It'll Be Better Soon
by Alysun
Summary: Draco receives some disturbing news and finds himself turning to his favourite teacher for comfort... NB: This is never going to be completed. I have given up and am sick to the back teeth with this fic. Read if you wish.
1. It'll be Better Soon

It'll Be Better Soon 

WARNING: This fic contains SLASH, male homosexual relationships. If you have a problem with this, don't even bother reading the disclaimer, just go now... 

DISCLAIMER: All the characters are owned by the glorious Miss J. K Rowling... except Snape, who I keep tied to a chair in my bedroom. JUST JOKING. Unfortunately.

SUMMARY: (You know, if you were real smart you would have read the pretty one outside...) Draco gets some disturbing news, and finds himself turning to his favourite teacher for comfort... 

SPOILERS: umm. I'll just say all of them, otherwise I'll end up contradicting myself. 

Chapter 1

It'll Be Better Soon 

When he entered the room, he saw only Snape's back, hunched over, his long slender fingers buried in his glistening black hair, head in hands. He could think of nothing to say so  Malfoy moved towards his teacher silently. Some how Snape must have heard him, for he said, "Mr. Malfoy. What a pleasant surprise," in a flat monotone voice, so different from the silken tones he usually spoke to Malfoy in. 

Draco paused. How had he known he was here? Why was he, Draco, here in Snape's office anyway? He felt confused, still recovering from the news that his owl had brought to him only half an hour before. He paused again. The silence in the stone room was prolonged again, Snape had still not turned to face him.  Maybe he should tell him…? 

"Err. . .yeah, it's just that. . ." 

No! Not now! Before he could stop himself, tears streamed down his face again, as they had for the last half hour. 

"Oh, gods. . ." whispered Malfoy in an undertone, wishing with all his heart that he could stop his tears. Snape still hadn't moved, though it was possible that his head had sunken deeper into his hands.  Malfoy couldn't tell; his vision was blurred. 

"So you've heard then, Draco?" said Snape, also in a low tone that could possibly also disguise hidden tears. Despite his misery, Malfoy couldn't help notice, _Snape had called him Draco. Even through his currant dismay and general unhappiness, old dreams fought their way through, begging to be heard. And acted out. _Calm down,_ Draco, he told himself, and answered Snape's best he could._

"Yeah, they... they... gods, they sent me his owl..." 

He couldn't help it, he was now crying full out, choking on emotion, he tried his best to carry on, eyes closed in a vain hope that the action would stop the tears. 

"They said that... they said that, mother..." his voice caught again, he stopped unable to go on.  He bit his lip, realising that he was shaking. He opened his eyes, tears splattering on the cold floor. He looked up at Snape, and was surprised to see that Snape had turned round and stood up. He looked as though he had been crying also. On seeing the blonde, mirror image of Lucius, tears sprung again in his dark eyes. 

"…I'm sorry, Draco," he managed, and turned away, ashamed of his tears, his sudden show of emotion. 

"I can't stand it… you've got to help me sir... please... " 

Snape never knew quite why he did it, but he never regretted it, not once afterwards.  In one smooth motion, he moved towards the shaking  boy, man even, of seventeen, and pulled him into a tight embrace, what could only be described as a hug. Draco squeezed his teacher back, wrapping his arms around Snape's waist, burying his head into his shoulder.  They stood there for several minutes, both crying of the memory of the late Lucius Malfoy, both taking comfort from the others embrace, not wanting to let go. 

"It'll be better soon, Draco. It will be better," Snape murmured, reassuring himself as much as the boy he held. 


	2. Revenge was Sweet When We Were Younger. ...

Chapter 2. Revenge Was Sweet When We Were Younger 

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing other than my own sick fantasies . . .

"It will be better soon, Draco," Snape murmured again, fighting the urge to bury his head into the Draco's blonde hair that shone silver in the flickering candle light. Silver hair, so like his father's…

 .Shut up, shut up, shut up, he  thought, pushing the sacrilegious thoughts out of his mind.  Snape noted that the boy was no longer shaking or crying as he had been before, but wasn't letting him go either. Snape wondered. . .no. It wasn't hereditary, like blue eyes, or black hair. Besides, even if it was, it wasn't as though Draco would. . .that is to say, just because Lucius. . .

He sighed and forced himself to pull away from Draco. He let go, and gently prised Draco's arms from around him. Silently, he led the down-cast young man to the door at the back of his office, into his bedroom. It the corner of the room was an unlit fire, and two hearth chairs. He lit the fire at the careless wave of his wand. Sitting Draco in one chair, and himself in the other, he said quietly, "Tell me." 

 And Draco did. He told him how he had been in his dorm with Crabbe and Goyle when his father's owl had swooped through the window and landed on the back of his chair, and had given him a letter. He told him how he had opened it carelessly, thinking it to be another letter from his dotting mother, asking how he was, yet again. 

He told him how he had read it first in disbelief, and then in shock, how Crabbe had asked what had been wrong. He told him how he had told Crabbe and Goyle to go off and leave him alone. He told him of how he had cried for that half hour before he had found him self in Snape's office. 

And in turn, Snape listened, transfixed by the boy's shameless narrative. When Draco drew to a close, neither spoke for several minutes, although for different reasons. Draco thought of his father, how much he would miss him. . .people often thought that Lucius Malfoy beat his son, that his only son was scared of him. . .people often got it wrong.  Snape also thought of Lucius. . .albeit in a different context...

~ * ~

_He had known Lucius since Hogwarts. They had been friends there. . .or at least companions. When they left, they lost contact for awhile, and only met next in the shadow of the Dark Lord, at the end of one of the first Death Eater meets. _

_It had been dark, the middle of the night. As the masked congregation left the room to disapparate to their separate homes, Severus grabbed the arm of one of his fellow Death Eaters and dragged him into a shadowy corner of the passage way. The Death Eater struggled against the hold of his capture briefly, put stopped as Severus whispered to him,_

_"Lucius? It is you Lucius, isn't it?!" _

_A hand reached up and snatched Severus's mask from his face. _

_"Severus! Good gods! I thought I'd lost you forever!" gasped a startled, but happy voice. "Come on, let's go back to the Manor, fill me in with the missing years!" grinned Lucius, at the face of his old friend, who laughed and let him go._

_ They disapparted and appeared seconds later in the dark hall of Malfoy Manor. Laughing and joking together, they went into Lucius large study and sat by the fire, talking of years past. With out knowing it, the had both missed each other more they had imagined, Snape soon realised.  As the night drew on, and Malfoy offered Snape a room for the night, which was gratefully accepted. They parted and went up to their separate rooms, as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the servants._

_Snape lay in between the silk sheets of his four poster bed, unable to sleep. He lay, staring up at the canopy, thinking of Malfoy, his narrow face, his liquid grey eyes, sparkling with laughter  . . .there was a knock on the door. _

_"Come in" called Severus, as loudly as he dared. The door swung open, and Lucius glided into the room, a secret smile on his face. _

_"Lucius?" questioned Snape, sitting up "What are you doing here at this time?" _

_Lucius said nothing as he made his way across the room, and sat on Snape's bed. _

_"I knew you wouldn't be able to sleep. I knew I couldn't either, for that matter," he whispered, only half answering Snape's question. To Snape's surprise, the silver haired Malfoy placed one hand on his bare chest and pushed him back down onto the bed. Saying nothing, he sat on Severus, legs straddling him. Smoothly, without a moments hesitation, he leant down over Severus and kissed him, gently, on the lips. _

"Lucius," gasped Severus again, in both shock and surprise. He stared up at his friend. He was still smiling his smile. Old fires were re-lit.  

_"Oh, come on, Severus. . . you know you want to. . ." Lucius whispered to him, his eyes sparkling with unusual brightness. He pulled himself further upright, staring into his host's platinum  coloured eyes. He murmured back at him, not looking away from those molten silver eyes," I know I want to. . .but I didn't know if you did. . ."_

_There was a minute pause, before Lucius leant over him, until Severus could feel his warm breath on his face. . .carefully, almost delicately, he placed his lips on Snapes.  It was like nothing Snape had ever dreamed of. . .Lucius took hold of him, wrapping his strong arms around Severus's lean body, inviting him to  return the kiss. They sat there, entwined in each others arms, kissing, revelling in new found desires. . ._

~ * ~

Snape brought himself back to the real world sharply. It hurt to think of all the years they had spent from that night onwards . . .now lost in Lucius's murder. Out of the corner he saw Draco staring into the fire also. It was because of Draco that their relationship had ended, two years before he had come to Hogwarts. He looked so like his father. . .so elegant, gentle, but so cold, distant from the world, so much like a fallen angel. Snape smiled wryly at his out of character poetic turn. Malfoys, he commented dryly to himself, needed to be handled with caution. they twisted the mind. . .or at least his mind. Another memory, another painful twang in his consciousness. So what should he do about Draco? Become his guide and mentor? No, he decided. It was too hypercritical, after what he and Lucius had done, although in  a way that Snape couldn't explain. He wasn't any good in delicate matters such as this anyway. Then what to do? The companionable silence in the room ended, and was replaced by an awkward pause. 

" Sorry, about this, sir," said Draco,  in a low, but calm Snape noticed, voice.  Severus shook his head.

"Don't be. There isn't anything to be sorry about." LIAR, he  thought viciously. Yes there is! He's DEAD for gods-sake. . .my Lucius . .dead. . . His usually steely self control was breaking down. Hiding so much for so long was taking its toll, and having to hide one more thing, one more, however small, was going to kill him slowly. . .and now there was no-one to console in. He stood up and turned away, to hide his dark thoughts from Draco, afraid that they would show on his face. Walking over to the small cabinet in the corner of the room, he asked Draco, "Would you like a drink? Coffee? Tea? There's probably something else in here somewhere" as much for something to do as to break the persisting unease in the room. 

"No. Thanks, though," replied Draco. 

"Sure?"

"Yeah, . . .look professor, how well do . .did you know my father?" asked Draco suddenly. Severus dropped the spoon he was holding in shock. Gods, he doesn't KNOW does he? No. . .he couldn't, they had been so careful . . .

"Fairly well. . ." he said cautiously. "Why?" Draco didn't say anything for a moment. Gods, he DOES know! Thought Severus in panic, as he watched the boy stare into the fire. Draco gave a small sigh,

"It's just something Father always said to me," he said, quietly. Severus relaxed marginally. Lucius would never have told anyone. . .especially not his own son. 

"May I ask what it was he said?" he asked, equally quiet, curiosity aroused now that he was on seemingly safer ground. Draco rocked back and forth in the chair, deep in thought.  Severus watched the fire light play on his hair, the resemblance to Lucius making him feel slightly nauseous. 

"I know this will sound odd, sir," Draco said eventually. He paused, choosing his words carefully. "But Father always had a suspicious mind. He told me that if. . .if anything ever. . ._happened _to him to come and find you, sir," Draco raised his head so that he could meet Severus's gaze. 

" I never. . ." his voice broke off as he stifled a sob. "I never took him seriously! I thought that _nothing_ could EVER hurt him, but. . .gods. . ." he ended in a whisper. Snape was only half listening. He was thinking of the past again...

~ * ~

It was a twelve months before Voldemort's downfall.  Severus had turned spy for Dumbledore against Voldemort's ever increasing power. He had told Lucius. . .he didn't know why, but he had. Lucius agreed not to tell Voldemort for as long as Severus distracted Dumbledore's attention away from Lucius. It seemed to have worked, for now, anyway.

_They were in Snape's office in Hogwarts castle. No-one knew that Lucius was there. They sat by Severus's fire, making light conversation, for once. Severus wondered why, briefly, but didn't argue. It was pleasant enough. Then, suddenly, out of the blue, Lucius said, "This won't last forever, you know, Severus." _

_Severus was startled. He was painfully aware that it would have to end sometime. . .but so soon?  Noticing his lover's shocked stare, Lucius smiled,_

_"No, I don't mean I want this to end now, fool!" _

_Severus relaxed a little. Lucius was never serious when he called him a fool. Lucius carried on, no longer laughing now. _

_"I meant...this won't last forever. Even with your help, the Aurors will find me. Look at the Lestrangs! We all thought them to be invincible." He gave a humourless laugh. "Thing is, Severus, if the Dark Lord's still in power, I won't be taken alive."_

_ Lucius stopped and stared at the flicking flames in the fireplace._

_"I am well aware of all this, Lucius. You don't have to tell me what I already know,." whispered Severus, uncertain what the blonde man was getting at._

_"Severus, Narcissa is pregnant," he said with ever increasing difficulty. Severus stared into the fire, rather than looking at Lucius. They had been over this many, many times before. _

_"I also aware of this, Lucius. What are you getting at?" he said, his voice cold.  Lucius sighed._

_"I wish. . .look we've been over this before, and I don't want to again, but . . ."_

_"But what?" said Snape harshly. _

_"But." Lucius sighed again. "But when the child grows up. . .you will probably still be a teacher here. I don't want you to hold a grudge on it for something that it doesn't even know about! Please, Severus, forgive me. . .there was nothing else I could have done that night, you KNOW that. . ." _

_Severus stared at the floor. He knew that he was being unreasonable. _

_" Yes, I know, Lucius. . .and alright. I'll forgive you. If you forgive me. . ." He said softly. He hated to see Lucius in pain. It was worse when the Dark Lord performed the Cructius curse on him. . . it was all Severus could do to jump to Lucius defence. But that would mean death for both of them. A long, drawn out, torture induced death for both of them He couldn't deal with the pain that he was causing Lucius any more, he would do anything for it to stop . . ._

"Of course I do Severus. You know I do."  

He smiled... 

~ * ~

Severus looked up from the fire and realised that Draco had been watching him expectantly for several minutes while he had daydreamed. 

"Sorry about that," he muttered. "What did you say?" 

Draco looked oddly at his teacher and repeated,  "Do you know what he meant, sir? When he told me to find you?" The boy's face was anxious for information. 

Snape felt old. He thought. What had Lucius meant? Why had he sent Draco to him? He closed his eyes to think. Him. . .what had Lucius told him to tell Draco? Had he ever told him to tell Draco anything? This was stupid. . . Finally, he remembered. The day after Draco had been born, Lucius had given Severus a letter to keep for him. 

"Keep this safe for me. Give it to Draco when I die," was all he had said. Severus had never been able to get any more out of him. 

Severus opened his eyes again. Slowly he stood up to go and get the letter. He didn't worry about the possible contents.  At that moment in time, he couldn't have cared less about anything. 

"Wait here for one moment," he commanded, and left the boy by the fire and went back into his now cold office. He went over to the bookshelf the lined one wall, and pulled out a slim volume.  He opened the book at the middle, and took out the yellowing letter marked "To Draco" in red ink. 

It wasn't an original hiding place. It wasn't a hiding place at all in fact. Why should anyone look for something they didn't know existed? No, it was a safe place, not a hiding place. He returned to his bedroom, where Draco was waiting.  Silently, handed over the letter. Draco stared at it, recognising his father's hand writing. He went to open it and then hesitated, looking to Snape for approval. Snape said quietly, "Yes, open it. Your father gave it me to keep for you." 

He watched Draco as he eagerly open the envelope, pulled out the letter and started to read.  He read steadily and carefully, not wanting to miss a single letter. Sensing that the letter was drawing to a close, Severus looked into the fire, not wanting to be caught watching him.

After he had finished reading, Draco looked up at Severus. 

"Sir..." he whispered. Severus looked inquiringly at the boy but said nothing.  Draco coughed nervously. 

"It says at the end...  'If it is appropriate, tell Severus, or at least, Professor Snape, to you, the following;  'Revenge was sweet when we we're younger…  is it still? Memories are best when they  kept are left unstained. Don't worry, he will understand, if...' and that's it, I think..." finished Draco. He looked up enquiringly at his teacher, who smiled back, sadly.  

"Yes...revenge was sweet when we were younger..."


	3. Yes?

Chapter 3. Yes?  
  
DISCLAIMER: None of the people, places, settings etc, are mine. I just wish they were.  
  
Draco stared at his teacher, who seemed to be in a trance. How old was he? He could only be as old as his father. . .Draco stopped himself. He couldn't think of his father. But the letter. . . how had his father known so much of the future? It was almost scary. It was dated the day after his birthday, seventeen years ago. The day after he had been born. Why had he given it to Snape? Why not Crabbe's father? Or Goyle's for that matter? They were both totally trustworthy, and they were closer to Lucius than Snape had ever seemed to be. He could have given it to his mother, even. But he had specifically said something about his mother. . . Draco read the letter again.  
  
To Draco, As I write this, I am watching over you. So small. . . so innocent. You won't be as and when you grow up. I will always watch over you. This is partly why I am writing this letter. You will know that I choose to back Voldemort in this struggle for power. Why? Because he will win. Maybe just in the short term. I suspect strongly that his downfall is near; not every Death Eater in his inner circle is faithful. I know that for a fact. But has he not won, already? We have very different views, the Dark Lord and I. But because I value my life, I don't argue. It never does to argue with people with as much power as he. But still, I insist, he has won. Why? Has the Ministry not been thrown into disarray? Will it not take, at least twelve, thirteen year to repair? I think so. I hope to be there when the Lord comes back from his fall from power, that I am certain will happen. . .and soon. Now. This is why I write to you. I am not a loved man in society. Admired, yes, but not love. There is an important difference between those two words, and you must learn it. There are two types of men in this world. There are some who are blind enough to see only a man's wallet; Fudge being one of them. At the moment, there is rivalry between Fudge and Crouch for the position of Mister of Magic. Only the gods know why! Because of Fudge's talent for seeing the wallet only, he will win. This I know for sure. What was I saying? Ah, yes, there are some who see the wallet, and there are other's who look deeper. Beware of those who look deeper! Dumbledor is one. Despite what the Dark Lord says, Dumbledor is not a fool. He accepts muggles for what he perceives them to be, but is no fool. Quite the opposite, unfortunately. Still he is a man to be respected; treat him with caution when you come across him. I will try and send you to Durmstrang, where I believe you could have a more. . .appropriate education for a Death Eater's son, but I think that Nar. . .your mother will want to keep you in this country. Never mind. Hogwarts has one saving grace however. There is one truly wonderful teacher of mine in Hogwarts, Professor Severus Snape. I hope he will live to teach you Potions in Hogwarts; he is a good friend of mine. Despite his rather. . .over bearing appearance, he is a wonderful man underneath. . .if he will let you get that far. . . I will not hold you much longer, Draco. I am now dead, I know, and that is why you are reading this letter. There are other things I should really tell you . . .but cannot bring myself to do so, as it would effect. . .another, who is much dearer to me than my very life. It is not vital information however, you will live a better life with out it. Do not worry. I suspect that my death was caused by murder. Possibly suicide, but if it was, you would not be reading this. Murder. . .yes. Watch your back, my son, and find people to help you watch. Value your life, do as you think will benefit your future, not what you think is right. You will live longer this way. Trust me. I hope to teach you well. I will try. If it is appropriate, tell Severus, or at least, Professor Snape, to you, the following; revenge was sweet when we we're younger. . .is it still? Memories are best when they kept are left unstained. Don't worry, he will understand. . . if he chooses to. I will have to see what the future holds from here onwards. And now I must be gone. Do not brood over my death, or plot for revenge. You will only get yourself into trouble that a dead man isn't worth. And remember this one thing. Keep the Malfoy Pride and Name. Do not worry about what they think.  
  
Lucius Malfoy.  
  
Post Script: Do not show, or tell your mother about this letter. Or anyone else for that matter. If you feel that you must talk to some one about it, find Severus and show this to him. You can talk to him. He knew me best. From your loving father, L. M.  
  
Draco stared at the letter. There was so much of it that didn't make sense. Maybe he should as Snape? No, not now. Try to decipher it yourself first, he told himself, and put the letter back into its ageing envelope reverently. He wondered what his father had meant about Snape and the whole revenge and memory thing. It seemed to make sense to Snape, because he was miles away, lost in thought, again. He looked at Snape, who was sitting absorbed in thought, staring at the fire. What else had his father said about Snape? Ah, yes. . . Hogwarts has one saving grace however! There is one truly wonderful teacher of mine . . .of mine? pondered Draco. What could that mean? They were good friends, according to the letter, but. . .of mine? It really doesn't make sense, he thought. Dammit, WHY did his father have to be so cryptic? There were sphinxes out there who made themselves clearer! He felt a surge of hate towards his father, for being dead, for leaving letters that didn't make sense, for leaving him. . .he stopped himself. He was being unreasonable. "I said earlier that it would be better soon, Draco." A voice broke through his thoughts. Snape was talking to him, his silken tones finally returning into his voice. Draco couldn't help but be pleased that Snape was still calling him Draco. . . " . . .and it will. You will get used to it. The human mind is a wonderful thing for adapting situations like this. . .You realise that you are now the master of Malfoy Manor?" That caught Malfoy of guard. Of course he was! He hadn't thought of that before. . . "It will be hard. Your father held an awful lot of power, which will now fall to you. It is important that you don't get carried away with it." "Yes, sir," said Draco, head spinning with the shear enormity of what Snape was telling him. He looked back down at the letter. Was all the information in the letter important? Was it important that he understood it all? He didn't know. He felt Snape watching him, not with the usual expression that he wore when looking at anyone. When he looked at Draco, it was normally with favour against someone else, usually Potter. When he looked at Potter it was with loathing, Longbottom it was sneering distaste. But this was different. With out even looking, Draco could tell that Snape was. . .smiling? Surely not! Hardly daring to believe it, Draco looked up to see his teacher smiling across at him. It wasn't a leering grin, or a knowing smirk, it was an honest, slightly lopsided smile. "You'll do fine, Draco. I know you will," he said, and stood up. Draco was in shock. Snape had smiled at him! And told him that he would do well! It wasn't that exceptional, really, but. . .he had seemed so honest, open all of a sudden, not the dark, slightly sinister Snape he was used to. Draco stood up also, but instead of making to leave as he had planned, he impulsively caught Snape's arm. Snape turned around to face him, no longer smiling, but still seeming more . . .pleasant, friendly, even. "Yes?" 


	4. Golden Dreams of Golden Days

Chapter 4  
  
Hello again, everyone. . . yes it's me again, the annoying one. I thought it was time to make an appearance again, to reassure you of my existence. . .I would also like to thank Silverfox, since she has reviews my fic twice already, both times nicely, as well!! Thanks also go to Gwen and ThreeOranges who remain the only people to have reviewed this yet. . . a-hem. More please ; ) ! This if where the slash starts in earnest. Don't judge me too harshly, I know it's not very good, but I can't seem to improve it. Sorry. For the purposes of this fic, Draco has a private tailor, and doesn't get his robes for Madame Malkin. . .  
  
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the plot. (Which I'm not sure that I want to admit to, but still. . . )  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Golden Dreams of Golden Days  
  
Severus looked into the eyes of his pupil, who seemed to be at a loss of what to do next. He appeared to be struggling with himself about something, but what, Severus didn't know. Finally, he spoke "It's abou. . I'm sorry, sir, but. . ." and with that, Draco pulled his teacher back to him, wrapped his arms around his waist again, and kissed him, softly, on the lips. He stopped and drew back a little, red with embarrassment. Severus stared at him. Oh. Gods. Why? he asked himself, in stunned bemusement. Am I just some irresistible magnet to Malfoys? Not that I'm complaining, but he's a student. . .not even seventh year. . .the small questioning voice was lost in the other depths of his mind. He was so like Lucius. . .so like him. His hair, his eyes. . . alluring silver eyes. . .Can't do this, mustn't do this, this is INSANE! What if Dumbledore finds out? What then, hey? Sacked for a minutes pleasure, gain your senses, Severus Snape! NO! It was a very persistent voice. Severus pushed it away. Draco was offering himself to him. Like having Lucius back all over again. . .he could have Lucius back. . . In an almost dream like trance, he let his long, elegant fingers run over Draco's silky hair. . . so like Lucius. . . "Sir?" Draco whispered softly. "Yes?" he answered, not fully paying attention, entranced by the feel of Draco's soft, soft hair. . . "I think. . . I think I love," the word was spoken carefully, as though he wasn't used to the sound it made, "you," "Are you sure, or do you just think?" he asked, amusedly. "I. . .I do. I think," uttered Draco before leaning up to find Severus's mouth again. They stood by the fire, as Severus had stood with Lucius by his fire, wrapped in each others arms, oblivious to the outer world. After a while, Draco's hand worked its way around his teacher, and found the fastenings to his robes. Carefully, slowly, he worked it undone, and moved down to the next. "Draco?" whispered Snape, pulling back in slight surprise. The spell broke suddenly, letting Severus realise exactly what he was doing. Exactly what was going to happen next. With a pupil. "Sir?" he answered, not stopping his work. So like Lucius. . . "Are you sure you want to. . .?" Hesitantly asked, not knowing whether he wanted to know the answer, The sick feeling in his stomach left by the news of Lucius's death had not left him. . .but he could have Lucius back. . . Silver eyes looked up at the older figure, standing in indecision before him. What was driving him, Severus asked himself, the words lost, drowned out by Draco's voice saying "quite sure, professor," demurely. "In that case. . ." Hesitations and practicality fled from his mind, thinking only of the miniature Lucius that stop before him, so expectantly. . .Severus hurried to find the fastenings to Draco's robes. Were they the same as Lucius's? Yes! Finding the top one, he brought his hand down sharply, undoing every clasp, a trick he had learnt long ago. Draco's robes fell to the floor. "Sir!" he gasped, impressed. Snape smirked. He knew he was good. Silver eyes sparkled again as Draco kissed him, more needy now than before. His hands ran over him, waist back, shoulders face hair, clutching t the slick black strands. Severus shed his own robes easily, and pulled Draco across the room, pushing him onto the four poster bed that dominated the middle of the room. Draco pulled the older man on top of him, as Snape kicked off his shoes. Severus gave a shark like grin, and Draco shivered in anticipation. Snape felt himself harden at the sight of Draco's pale, naked body, willing on his bed. He touched him lightly with his long fingers, tracing invisible lines on Draco's stomach. He kissed him again, as Draco's erection stared to come on. Lightly, he kissed first his mouth, and then moved down, his neck, shoulders, chest. He found the boys nipple, hard with the cold air in the room. Baring his teeth, he bit it gently, just enough to cause slight pain as his tugged on it, causing Draco to scream in his mounting ecstasy. Leaving Draco's chest, Severus moved down and took his student into his mouth, as Lucius had done to him. He licked him softly at first, lightest touches, minimum contact. Stroking him with his tongue, a kind of blasphemous, forbidden ecstasy, Draco was gasping, begging Severus to not to stop, his hands buried again in the fine black hair . . .He ejaculated, the warm white liquid filling Severus's mouth. He swallowed willingly, and licked up any that had escaped. . .Finished where he was, Severus moved back to Draco's face. "Say my name, Draco," he whispered into his ear, whilst guiding the boys hands round him. "Gods. . ." he groaned. Severus placed his hand on Draco's chest and pushed him further into the bed. "Say it! Say my name. . ." he gasped, with sadistic glee. "Severus. . .please. . ." Severus shivered and released the pressure on Draco's chest, and kissed him again. He rolled Draco over. "Are you ready for this, Draco? Do you want this? Tell me you want this. . ." "You know I do, Severus," moaned Draco from beneath him. Severus grinned into the dark. He reached into the cabinet beside his bed. He fumbled for a moment with the lock and then and drew out a jar. Eyeing the jar knowingly from where he lay, Draco twisted round. "Let me," he whispered, eyes alight. Severus suppressed a smile, and threw himself down on the bed bedsides the blond boy. Draco unscrewed the cap, and carefully scooped some lube out of the container. Setting the jar on the table, Draco covered his hands with the slick grease, knowing with acute enjoyment Severus's growing impatience. "Hurry up, damn you," he growled at the grinning figure. Slowly, and with precision, Draco started fingering the erect cock that waited in front of him. Light touches, nothing more, gently stroking, caressing. Snape moaned needing more. Draco pressed on, soft light touches, becoming steadily more intimate, the boy revelling in the sight of his teacher writhing because of him. Job done, he drew back, and before he knew anything, the Potions Master was on top of him, hands pawing his back like a cat. "Ready?" came the breathless whisper from behind him. "Yes," Draco answered, closing his eyes in anticipation. He had only ever heard of this. . .never before done in, he was nervous. But he trusted Severus. Trusted him with his life. . . Snape moistened a finger, and then inserted it in the crack that waited him. Gently probing, wetting the entrance, he pushed another in, widening the hole in preparation. Eventually, he was satisfied, and in any case, could wait no longer. He lowered himself in, hearing Draco gasp as he touched the sides. He drew a shaky breath and thrust himself all the way in, extracting another pained moan from Draco. He pulled back and thrust again, working up a steady rhythm, needing it now as much as Draco did. Climax reached, Severus drew out and collapsed on the bed beside his flushed student. There was no talk, no gentle whispers, just silence, soothing and forgiving in the air around them. Exhausted, Draco fell into a deep and blissful sleep in Severus's arms, his thoughts finally distracted from his father's death. Severus however did not. He cradled Draco, watching him in his arms, watching as the dying firelight flickered and sparkled on the blond hair. He thought about Lucius. It had been a long time. . .nine years? More? Lucius had been so good. . .Severus closed his eyes and dreamt, golden dreams of golden days. 


	5. If He Will let You get That Far. . .

Chapter 5.  
  
If He Will Let You Get That Far. . .  
  
Severus awoke suddenly. The room was cold, and the sheet of the bed had slid of his back. In a kind of shocked, horrified daze he recalled the night before. He closed his eyes again. What the hell had he been thinking? It couldn't be real. It could not. . .Draco sighed in his sleep. Severus cast a panicked glance at the clock on the sideboard. Five in the morning. Thank the gods for that at least. . .If anyone found out. . .Hesitantly, he put his hand on Draco's shoulder. The boy wriggled slightly. Severus shook him awake, softly, but insistently. Finally he came round, and yawned. "Wha'. . .?" He stared at his teacher. Snape grimaced. "I know. I know! You've got to get up. . .get back to your dorm, before they all wake up." "I can't believe. . ." started Draco, the realisation reviving him into wakefulness. "Nor can I. Forget about it. We MUST forget about it, you understand? If Dumbledore finds out. . .I'll lose my job that's for sure. But you mustn't say a word to anyone!" He said, pulling himself upright. "Yeah, I know, " answered Draco, and shivered. The fire had long since burnt down. He climbed from under the sheet and started to dress himself, as Snape went through a door that Draco assumed must be the bathroom. Last night. . .he could only remember bits of it. He didn't strain to remember more. What had possessed him?! So, he had always been. . .attracted to the Potions Master, but to. . . he shivered slightly, though if it was because of the cold or his thoughts, he didn't know. He sorted through a pile of discarded clothes and found his socks. Pulling them on, he thought started thinking about Snape. It explained a lot, really. Why he was unmarried, unattached. . . he wondered whether his father had known. He dismissed the thought from his mind. He didn't want to think of his father, or what he would have said if he ever found out about him and. . .last night. Insane. Truly insane, to do such a thing. . .He pulled his robes over his head, and remembered how easily Snape had undone the fastenings. Strange, really, since his robes were unique, made by the family tailor. He saw his shoes at the side of the bed. He went to retrieve them. He took them to the fireside, and sat where he had sat the night before, and started to do them up. Would Crabbe and Goyle have stayed up this late for him? Probably. He would say he was talking to Snape. Which was nearly the truth, anyway. They should have fallen asleep by now, anyhow. Hopefully, he could just creep past them, if they were in the common room, and slip up to the dorm. What lessons did he have today? He pulled his time table out of the pocket in his robes. . .Defence Against Dark Arts, Care For Magical Creatures, Potions. . .Potions! His heart sank. He would just have to pretend it never happened. Yeah, right. Snape came back into the room, wearing a bathrobe. As Draco looked at him, he noticed again how attractive his teacher really was; tall, mysterious, strong. . .independent, clever. . .he stopped himself. This was not the way to think if he was going to pretend nothing had happened. . . "Are you alright?" Severus asked. "Yeah. . .just tired, I suppose, " he said, a little shyly. Snape gave a brief grin. "To be expected, if you've been awake all night." Draco blushed and grinned slightly. Snape became serious. "Remember, tell no-one. There's a lot at stake. My job, reputation. . .your reputation, which is much more important, your place here at Hogwarts, amongst various other things. If anyone asks where you were, you were talking to me, here, right? They won't mind that. The news about Lucius will be in the morning paper, I can guarantee. " He paused. "Don't worry, sir, I'll be fine, " Draco reassured him. It was dark in the room, and he couldn't make out Snape's expression, but he could have sworn that he saw. . . guilt? Surely not! Trick of the half light. Must be. "Good. Ignore what they say. Watch out for Potter and his little gang, they would forget this for a long time. Granger might try and stop him and Weasley, but they'll be there, making life hell, as ever," he said and fleeting trace of guilt hidden. "I'll be fine. Can I. . .can I still come and talk to you sometimes, sir?" He asked, words rushing out. All Slytherin pupils could come and talk to Snape whenever they wanted. To his relief, Snape's face relaxed into a slow smile. "Of course. Not too often, or rumours will start. But yes, of course you may." Draco smiled back. Both seemed reluctant to leave. Eventually, Snape broke the silence, and said, "You'd better get back. Try and get some sleep." Draco nodded and rose from the chair. "Thank you, professor," he said, and let himself from the room. He walked through Snape's office, still feeling Snape's eyes watching his retreating back go out of the door. Closing the Office door gently, he walked slowly towards the Slytherin common room, keeping in the shadows, buried in thoughts. The picture of Severus - no, Snape, dammit, Snape- standing in front of the bathroom door, wearing a bathrobe, was firmly implanted in his head, and not leaving, what ever he tried to think. Eventually, he reached the entrance to the common room. Murmuring the password, he silently entered into the dark, cold room. As he had guessed, his faithful sidekicks were asleep by the fireplace, snoring peacefully. He left them there. He would say that he got back earlier, and they were both asleep then as well. He crept to his dorm, undressed and collapsed on his bed. He lay there, thinking. Why had Snape let him do that? Had he wanted to, or was he carried away on the moment? And that letter. That bloody letter. Where was it? He rolled over, and hauled his robes up of the floor again, and searched the pockets. It wasn't there. Damn! It must have dropped out in Snape's bedroom. He tried to remember it the best he could. What had his Father written about Snape? Ah, yes, he remembered. . . " he is a wonderful man underneath. . .if he will let you get that far. . ." Draco smiled, and, against all probability, fell asleep. 


	6. Safe From the Memories?

Chapter 6  
  
Safe From the Memories?  
  
Snape watched Draco leave the room, and watched him disappear through his office. He stood there long after he left, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom watching, but not paying attention. He wore the glazed expression of one thinking of other things. And he was.  
  
"Severus, we mustn't. . ." slurred Lucius, giggling madly. Severus was giggling to. It didn't matter! Nothing mattered, they were by themselves, in his bedroom, his sound-proof bedroom, with several bottles of miscellaneous drink still unopened. They had everything they would ever need! "Come on!" He hissed, grinning like a madman. Lucius started giggling again, but followed him, clutching at the neck of the half empty champagne bottle. As the door swung shut behind them, the staggered out into the corridor, stifling their laughter. They made their drunken way to the dungeons where Snape taught and went in. . .  
  
'Stop it. Stop it NOW,' Severus told himself sharply and turned from the door and looked at the dishevelled bed. He forced himself to think of shrinking potions, and nothing but shrinking potions as he pulled the sheets into some sort of order. Thoughts of Lucius that tried to flit through, were flattened, stomped on, like a daisy beneath a steamroller. Thoughts of Draco were just ignored. To keep his mind occupied, he left the room, went into his office, and sat down. He picked up his timetable and looked through his classes for the next day. . . First Year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, Third Year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, Sixth Year Slytherin and Gryffindors. . . Draco! Snape swore out loud. He glared at the timetable, willing it to be wrong. It didn't quail under his stare, unlike most unfortunate things that were subjected to it. He gave up. Slamming the piece of paper down onto the desk with such force that one of the precariously balanced piles of paper slid from view and fall to the floor, Snape swore again, more violently. Glaring at the world in general, he collected up the papers, and managed to create a space on the paper mountain that was his desk. Dumping them in the space, Snape went and sat back down in his chair and thought. What was he going to do? Draco was obviously unsure what to think, and if he was honest, so was Snape. Just forget about it, forget about it, forget it, forget it. . .It became Snape's mantra. He knew he won't be able to get back to sleep, so he worked, marking papers, planning classes. Anything else that tried to invade his train of thought was banished by his mantra and ignored. He worked for three hours solid like this, determined not to think of anything but the paperwork. Gradually, the determination crumbled, and he looked up at the wall clock. Quarter past eight, and cold. He rose from his seat and ventured back into the room, that lay silent, almost threateningly so. Keeping his mind carefully clear, he dressed, shaved and prepared to go down for breakfast. As he made to leave, something on the floor caught his eye. He stooped to pick it up. The letter he had given to Draco. Damn. He slipped it into his pocket and strode not to think of it. It required much force of mind, but he managed it, just as he managed most things. He left the dungeons, and arrived slightly earlier than usual at the Great Hall but not early enough to cause comment from the Head master, which, reflected Severus, was a blessing. Breakfast passed. The first two lessons passed. Third period rolled around, and Snape was Prepared. He was sitting behind his desk as the class piled in, noisy as ever. Snape watched, like a hawk. He observed Potter and Wesley stroll in near the end, and strained to hear what Granger was saying; by the looks of things, she had only just joined them. ". . .found by his wife this morning, LOOK!" She was saying, urgently, thrusting a copy of the morning's newspaper into Potter's hands. He and Weasley started to read it as they made their way to their places. He saw their exchange of glances and urgent whispering with Granger, who looked slightly taken back. "Harry, no!" He heard her gasp. She had the kind of voice that could penetrate a Quidditch crowd. There was a brief argument that she seemed to win, but she didn't, however, see the meaningful looks that Weasley and Potter gave each other. He had been right. They weren't going to let it pass unheeded. Snape felt his blood start to boil in slow anger. Not in this class! His eyes narrowed as the class feel silent. When he had their full attention (which didn't take long. The class could feel the anger that Snape was radiating right then), he started the lesson. Time moved on, and started his patrol, weaving in and out of the benches, criticising, commenting, scorning, and, in Neville's case especially, sneering. Lack of sleep and anger at Potter's little crew had put him in a bad mood. Silently he moved behind the three, who were mid-discussion. "Harry, you don't like it when he laughs at your family!" Granger, of course. "Yeah, but that's exactly the point! Make him see how I feel, for a change!" Potter, ever arrogant Potter. "Oh, come on, Hermione! You can't say you like him, can you?" Weasley, coarse and crass. "No, but he is human! He has feelings too!" This girl has too many morals, thought Snape. And for once in my life, I'm glad of them. Leaning onto the bench behind, he drew himself back to the conversation. "He's an evil, malicious, self centred git! He calls you a Mudblood! The only person he's got feelings for is himself!" Weasley glanced at Potter, for support. "Hermione, I've had six years of this! He deserves it!" Potter insisted, unaware of the silence that had taken over the classroom. Everyone was listening, watching the entertainment. Snape resisted a glance in Draco's direction. "Harry, it's not right!" she pleaded. "Sometimes I think your not either," growled Weasley, " Not right in the head." Granger coloured and looked offended, Potter looked at this discarded potion in his cauldron, and Snape chuckled richly. The three froze, only now were they aware of the silent dungeon, and their malevolent teacher behind them, arms crossed, detentions fore-planned. Slowly they turned round. Snape let his anger run lose in their direction. "Weasley, that's probably the only intelligent thing you've said so far. Probably so far in your life, what's more," he said, with a voice of velvet. Velvet that sheathed a very, very sharp dagger. Weasley flushed. Potter glowered up Snape defiantly. Snape glared back. He knew he was good at glaring. He had had a life times experience of it. Potter looked away. "Praise, must, of course, be given to the good Miss Granger, all proper and correct, equal rights, peace and good will to all men, " he sneered, causing her to colour even more. "And then Potter," he continued. " So self pitying when it comes to his own unfortunate family affairs, but not so when it comes to others, hmmm?" He was being cruel now, he knew. He also knew that he didn't care. "You and Weasley will be attending a detention with me tomorrow. You will stay behind after class, and we will arrange it then," he finished smoothly. Potter hung his head. The silence had fallen again, like a thick blanket, although not so comforting. "Well?" He questioned, glaring around at his class, the Slytherins grinning, the Gryffindors glowering mutinously. "Get on with your potions, we haven't got all day!" He went back to his desk, walking with slow, deliberate strides that echoed around the near silent chamber. The next half an hour past amiably enough, the bell rang, and the class ended. "Potter, Weasley, stay behind. And you, Mr. Malfoy," he called out, as they made to leave. The three made their way up to his desk, Draco looking surprised, and maybe a little worried. "Mr. Malfoy, if you'll wait over there a minute, there is something I wish to discuss with you. we won't be a minute here." Draco relaxed slightly and moved away. The detentions were given out, and the two offenders slunk away to the hovering figure of Granger, behind the door. Snape turned his attention to Draco. Before he had a change to speak, Draco started, "Sir, you didn't have to do that, it." Snape cut him off. "Yes I did. If you were going to say it doesn't matter, your wrong, it does." Draco hung his head. The silence returned, but was ended quickly by Snape. "Did you read the paper this morning?" he asked. Draco nodded. "Good," said Snape briskly, and moved on. "I presume your Mother will have sent you a letter, demanding your return to the Manor?" Draco nodded again. "She wants me back tonight. And Dumbledore wants to talk to me after lunch." He looked up, as though struck by a sudden thought. "Sir, was the letter that you gave me in your bedro. . .office this morning?" "Ah, yes, I'd almost forgotten about it," Snape said, and pulled it out of his pocket. He handed it over to the boy, who pocketed it gratefully . "Thanks a lot," he said. "You'd better go, if Dumbledore wants to talk to you. Oh, and by the way, you couldn't owl me with the dates of the funeral could you? I would like to be there. " Draco nodded and left. Severus was left with his head spinning. The rest of the day passed. The day finished. Snape walked from his office where he had been marking, slowly into his bedroom. He hadn't been in there since the morning. It was quiet and still. He stared at the bed. The house elves had been in and re-made it. Everything was neat and tidy, even the stale smell of sex had been removed. Severus left the room, and closed the door on all the memories. He dragged the chair from behind the desk, and set it by the fire. He settled down in it. He would sleep here tonight. Safe from the memories. . .or at least, he bloody well hoped so. He didn't need thoughts of Lucius and Draco rampaging through his mind. He hoped so. 


	7. You Mustn't Say a Word

Chapter 7  
  
  
  
Hello! Just some thanks and words of, of, . . .er. . .wisdom? Naaahh!! Anyway. . . * Takes cookie from dljewel.* You're a very nice person.* is cute* 'ank you!; I'm sorry chapter 4 was too graphic. I don't like chapter 4. It's not very good. Never mind! Yes, Abrosius, Hermione takes the heat for EVERYTHING! Muhahahahahahahahahahahah!!! Serves her right for * probably * being more intelligent than me!! Thanks for the spelling corrections, always appreciated! Everyone; r/r! Thank you all very much, Alysun.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters, but I do own the plot and several large pictures of Severus Snape. * g *  
  
Onward!!  
  
You Mustn't Say a Word  
  
Draco was confused. He was standing outside Snape's classroom, staring at the wall distantly, only vaguely aware that it was there. How did he do it? How did he mange to be so normal? Did he, Draco, mean nothing to him? Was he just a mistake, to be forgotten and ignored? Did last night mean anything to the man? Anything at all? What did Severus think?! Draco's heart gave a funny jolt. He had called him Severus! What the hell was going on?! He feet started moving of their own accord, leading him to the Great Hall. Mindlessly, Draco managed to get a plateful of food to his place and sat down without any major incident. He picked up a fork and began to shovel food into his mouth. He realised he didn't know what he was eating. He looked down at the plate, where the mangled remains of a shepherds pie lay. Shepherds pie. Great. Okay. He carried on eating. So what if Se. . .SNAPE didn't care about him? Its not like you care about him, is it? Draco asked himself. Just because of a few fantasies from earlier last year. . .It was just a mistake. Heat of the moment. Get over it. He was suddenly aware of Pansy Parkinson. She had just sat herself down next to him and was talking. And when she talked, she Talked, thought Draco. "Oh, it must be terrible, Draco! Oh, it is, isn't it? It must be sooo hard, I know if MY daddy got murdered, I would be dreadfully upset! But I'd be crying, and your not, you are dreadfully brave, aren't you Draco? I just couldn't cope. Where are Crabbe and the other one? Goyle, that's it. Did you send them off? I don't blame you, they can't be very sympathetic, can they? I don't know why you stick around with them, really. But it's good that you do, your really nice underneath, aren't you, Draco? Are you all right? " Christ, thought Draco. Does this girl ever stop?! I don't think she's taken a breath once! "Me? Oh, I'm fine, y'know, hanging in there. . ." he said, knowing that that's what she wanted to hear. "Oh, you're so brave! I don't know how you do it, your always so cool and relaxed, Draco!" She squealed. Gods, if the pitch of her voice gets much higher, Dumbledore will be paying for new windows, Draco thought lazily. Oh, yeah, Dumbledore! He checked his watch, not even bothering to keep up with Pansy's constant stream of chatter. "Yeah, Pansy, I gotta go! Dumbledore wants me." He said and stood up. "Okay! If you ever need to talk to someone, come and find me, I'm a really good listener!" She exclaimed, and stood up also. Flashing Draco a brilliant white smile, she bounded off to join her friends. She's a good listener?! Yeah, I bet! The only thing she listens to is herself. He made his way quickly up to Dumbledore's office. He had been given directions and the password earlier that morning, in the post. He pulled out the note now as he approached the gargoyle. "Liquorice Wand?" He read uncertainly. Liquorice wand? Was he the only sane person in this place? The gargoyle swung aside to reveal a spiralling staircase. Cautiously, he stepped onto it, and stood nervously as it wound its way up. He checked the letter again. He would be a little late, but not as late as he had thought. Damn Pansy! The stair case ended and tipped Draco off onto a small landing. There was a door with a griffin-shaped door knocker on it. Griffin, Gryffindor, thought Draco wryly. Why not a serpent of some sort? He knocked. "Come in," came Dumbledore's voice, from behind the door. Draco pushed it open. Snape's words echoed in his head, 'you mustn't say a word to anyone' . He entered the room. He had never been in the Head Master's office before, and looked round curiously. There were picture's of sleeping people on the wall, presumably ex-Head Masters and Mistresses. In a black cabinet behind Dumbledore lay a shining sword. There was a phoenix in a large, gilded cage. And finally, there was Dumbledore himself, sitting behind his neat, organised desk, fingers steepled, eyes serious. "Do sit down, Draco," he said, his voice soft and kind. Draco was forcibly reminded of his Great Grandfather. He sat down awkwardly on the chair opposite Dumbledore and waited. Dumbledore sighed. "Draco, this won't be easy. Which is to be expected, but still. Your mother wishes for you to return to the Manor tonight?" "Yes, professor, " said Draco, keeping his voice as flat and monotone as possible. "Do you want to? You don't have to, although it would be advisable." "I'll go tonight, professor." No point in sticking around, anyway. "Good." There was a pause. "Have you seen Professor Snape today?" Dumbledore asked. Draco's eyes flickered, but managed to stop himself from looking surprised. Or at least he hoped he did. " Yes, professor. We had him third, for Potions," he said. Well, duh! He teaches Potions! Draco kicked himself mentally. "I believe he knew your father well?" Persisted Dumbledore. "I think so, sir," he said. He couldn't concentrate properly on Dumbledore; not while hearing Snape saying, 'you mustn't say a word to anyone', over and over again in his head. Dumbledore sighed. "Fair enough. There will be a carriage outside the Hall, waiting for you at eight o' clock. You may go now. Give my commiseration's to your Mother." "Yes, professor. Thank you, sir," replied Draco, and stood to leave. He left the room and closed the door behind him. He stood at the top of the stairs momentarily, and then murmured, "You mustn't say a word to anyone," before mounting the moving staircase. Inside his office, Dumbledore listened. He picked up a quill, dipped it in the ink pot, and wrote, absentmindedly on a bit of parchment. He heard the gargoyle grating shut, and looked at what he had written. "You mustn't say a word to anyone?" He mused out loud. "Hmmm. . ."  
  
  
  
Draco left that night by the carriage. He hadn't seen Snape, and wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. He wasn't even sure whether he cared or not. 


	8. Questions, So Many God-Damn Questions

Chapter 8  
  
Questions  
  
Snape stood at the window of a third floor classroom, and watched Draco's carriage depart, destined for Malfoy Manor. There, Draco's more would be elegantly upset; always elegant, Narcissa. She was a firm unbeliever in vulgarity. She had always struck Snape as neurotic, but he considered the fact that he could just dislike her because of Lucius. Or Draco. Both? He shrugged. The carriage was disappearing up the road now. It would soon be out of sight. What did Draco think of him? What was he in his eyes? Just some lonely old man, in desperate need of a fuck? Or did Draco actually have feelings for him? One more bend, and the carriage would vanish from view. Did Draco know how, he, Snape, felt about him? Would he write? He would have to, with the funeral dates, but what else would he say? There. It disappeared, gone, vanished, departed. What was Draco thinking now? Snape stood at the window for a long time, questions streaming through is head, questions that he couldn't answer, questions that were driving him slowly mad. The room grew cold. Snape didn't notice; he lived down in the dungeons, he didn't notice the cold. Night started to fall, and still Snape didn't move, transfixed by the road, that last bend where the carriage had become obscured from view. Did Draco know he cared? Did he, himself, care? Or was it just because of Draco's resemblance to Lucius. . . "Severus?" A voice asked gently. Dumbledore. He hadn't heard him come in. Snape sighed inwardly. He didn't need sympathy and understanding now. He needed answers. "Questions won't bring him back, you know." Snape froze. How had Dumbledore known that he was. . .no, he must be referring to Lucius. He MUST be. He turned slowly, to see Dumbledore sitting on a desk. "I know. I know that they won't help, but it's. . ." Snape was lost. Questions about Lucius that he had banished that morning flooded his mind. Who killed him? WHO? Why? How? Snape turned back to the window, to hide his face from Dumbledore. "What will you do now?" "Who knows? I don't." Snape knew he was being vague. He had to be. Dumbledore was to sharp, to quick of the mark; he didn't know about him and Lucius, and Snape wanted it to stay like that. But one slip of the tongue. . .Dumbledore would pick it up. He had to be vague. "If I were you, I'd decide pretty quickly. Are you going to his funeral?" "If you don't have any objections, yes." What did he mean, decide pretty quickly? It didn't make sense. "You can't dwell on it forever. You have to move on, Severus." Ah yes, thought Snape, Dumbledore, the mind reader. At least he knew what he meant now. "It's hard not to dwell though, you must understand! He was my friend, my only friend for so long. . ." Stop it! He told himself sharply. Your dropping hints like lose change from a pocket full of holes! Fortunately, Dumbledore seemed not to notice. "Have you talked to Draco about this?" Snape was prepared for this one. "Yes. I talked to him a little after class." Blank, bland answer. "Was he. . .very upset, or. . .?" The question hung in the air. Snape thought furiously to get a decent answer. "He was probably more upset than he let on. I don't know, I'm not very good at . . .reading people." There. That would be acceptable. "hmm. . ." mused Dumbledore. There was a pause. Snape considered asking what Draco had said to Dumbledore at lunch, but refrained; he didn't know whether he was supposed to know about it. Dumbledore continued, a little hesitantly. "Did he say anything about. . .not saying anything to anyone?" Snape fought not to let his panic show. He stayed string out of the window and tried his best to sound innocently curious. "Not saying anything to anyone? No, I don't think so. Why do you ask?" " Oh, no reason, no reason. . .just something he said that didn't make sense." Was he hinting at something? Had Draco told him? Was this Dumbledore trying to get a confession from him? "May I ask what it was that he said?" Snape became aware that he was gripping the stone window sill so hard that his knuckles were white. He relaxed his grip a little. " Yes, I suppose you can. . .he had just left my office; he hadn't closed the door properly. And then. . .he must have stood on the landing there, and said, to himself, I think, 'You mustn't say a word to anyone', and then left. I was just wondering if it made any more sense to you than me." Snape relaxed a little more. "No. . .I don't think. . .although it might have been something Lu. . .his father had said to him?" It was easier to think of Draco of having a father that Snape had never met, rather than Lucius. Dumbledore seemed to consider his reply. "Must be it, I think. I can't see how it would fit in anywhere else." Snape risked looking back at Dumbledore. "Was there. . ." His voice caught. He turned back to the window and stared out again. Calm down, he told himself. "Was there any clue to who murder. . .killed Lucius?" There. He had asked it. There was a pause as Dumbledore thought about this. "No. There wasn't. Must have been someone he knew, as there was no sign of a fight. Killed in a muggle way, a dagger through the heart. I'm sorry. Of course, the officials are looking into the matter now. Don't worry. Who ever did it will be caught." Whoever did it would be caught! Whoever did it was a man to watch, if he was sly enough, good enough to get round Lucius. They wouldn't be caught. Who could have done it, though? Snape cast his mind back to think of the people who had really, really hated Lucius. There were quite a few. "Don't dwell on it, Severus. Move on. You must move on," Dumbledore's voice intoned, interrupting his thoughts. "I know." He did as well. It was just a matter of taking his own advice. "What did Draco say?" He may as well ask, since Dumbledore had made it clear that Draco had visited him "He was. . .very bland. Unemotional. Like you said, feeling a lot more underneath, but not showing anything." Conversation stopped, but both men stayed and made no effort to leave. What did Dumbledore know? What did he think he knew? More questions. "You had a fall out with Lucius a few years, before Draco started Hogwarts, didn't you?" Dumbledore asked, out of the blue. Snape was startled. Did Dumbledore know about him and Lucius? Questions, so many god-damn questions, so many god-damn lies. "No, we just. . . drifted, I suppose." There was another pause. Snape turned to face Dumbledore again. "A lot of people are under the impression that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. . .?" the ageing Headmaster probed carefully. Including Potter, added Snape in the privacy of his own head. Dumbledore thought he'd split? Suspense and expectation lay heavy in the air. "They are?" He asked innocently. Dumbledore really thought he was going to betray Lucius like that? Not bloody likely, they had made a deal, and Lucius had never broken it. Nor would he, in return. Dumbledore sighed. "I thought you'd say that. Never mind," he said, and stood up from the desk. Snape checked his watch. Nine thirty. Draco's carriage had left at eight. "I'm going to bed," announced Dumbledore. Thanks for that, thought Snape. Now we all know. He quickly banished the image of Dumbledore in bed. "And I'd advise you to do the same. Goodnight." Dumbledore finished, and left the room. Snape stood, a little lost and very tired. With one last glance out of the window, he left also, and went down to his lonely abode in the dungeons. 


	9. Time Passes

Chapter 9  
  
Ohhh. . .naughty, naughty dljewel!! All in good time!  
  
I hate this chapter more than usual. . .I find it just plain confusing. And I wrote it. . .  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything except the confusing bits.  
  
Time Passes.  
  
Draco was in his bedroom at Malfoy Manor. His mother was downstairs somewhere, with one of her friends. She had a seemingly endless number of friends who streamed in and out of the house to make sure she was okay. Draco didn't mind; it kept her off his back. He was doing well with taking up his father's responsibilities, accounts and things for the Manor, and such like. Fortunately, he had a head for figures so Maths, as far as he was concerned, was easy. He had arranged everything for his father's funeral by himself. His mother was on a verge of a breakdown. He had written formal invitations to the funeral to all who were expecting one, i.e. family and close friends. And now. . .he looked down at the sheet of paper he was drafting on. So far he had, ' To Professor Snape,' and that was it. He had no idea how to start the letter. Questions filled his head. Nothing was suitable. He wasn't even sure that 'To Professor Snape' was right. Hell, he'd just have to write it any old how, see how it came out.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
Snape sat in his office holding the letter that an owl had just dropped off. He stared at Draco's curly handwriting on the envelope. What had he said inside? He didn't want to open it. He wanted to. What if it was just an ordinary letter? That's what you want. He told himself sternly. It is. Really. Slowly, he ripped open the envelope, and pulled out the letter. One sheet, one side of writing. Was this good or bad? He unfolded it and started to read.  
  
  
  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dear Professor Snape, I hope I find you well. You asked for the funeral dates? The funeral will be held at the Manor at 2:00, next Friday. I do hope you can come; I would like to see you again. It has been arranged so that the reading of the Father's Will will be read out after the ceremony, so everyone will be present. Mother is in a bad state; nerves, I think. She said that she would like to see you again also, since you were such good friends with father. Yours truly, Draco Malfoy.  
  
Snape finished reading and smiled. It must have been hard writing that, he thought. He'd done it well though. 'I would like to see you again'? That was a good sign. So was 'yours truly', but that might just have been Draco obeying the laws of letter writing. He stood up and went in search of the Head Master to ask for Friday off. When he returned, he pulled out a sheet of parchment, and wrote quickly,  
  
Dear Mr. Malfoy, Thank you, I am very well. Please expect me at 2:00, next Friday; I have been given to afternoon off to attend. I look forward to seeing you also, and hope to be able to talk to you. Give your best to your Mother from me. Yours truly, Severus Snape.  
  
He paused and read through his letter critically before putting it in an envelope and addressing it. 'Mr. Malfoy' was a bit formal, but he could hardly have called him Draco. What if Narcissa saw it? Besides which, he didn't know what Draco thought of him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what Draco thought of him. He strode down to the Owlery and sent the letter to the Manor with an Eagle owl.  
  
  
  
~*~ There. That wasn't too painful, was it?! The next chapter will be in Draco's POV, and won't that be fun!! A-hem. I'll try and get the next chapter up tomorrow or the day after. Unfortunately, I'll be going back to school on Tuesday, so everything will slow riiight down. . .Never mind, only about. . .er. . .six more chapters, I think! Thanks go to all the reviews and reviewers! 


	10. The Funeral - Part I

Chapter 10 

                (wow, double figures!!)

Do you people know how much I slave for you?! Come on, R/R!! Thanks.  Oh, yeah, while I think about it… school's started * is unhappy and depressed *. So I won't be getting chapter's up so quickly! If you're bored, I've done a story for English , and uploaded it; don't look at me like that!! It's a fan fic, don't worry. It's about Snape too...mmm... read and review, read and review!!

DISCLAIMER: The plot is all I own! And Draco's mad relations! * g * 

                The Funeral- Part I

Draco stood at the door of the Manor, greeting people as they arrived. It was the day of his Father's funeral. The weather was acting quite appropriately; it was grey, threatening to rain, but not quite. It reflected how Draco felt horribly accurately. More people came up the drive. 

Automatically, Draco started his bit of dialect, "Yes, it's very sad, I'm so glad to see you here, Father spoke of you often..." 

He dropped his polite tone as Mr. Nott and his wife went inside to see his Mother. Father didn't speak of you often! He screamed at them silently. He only ever mentioned you in passing, you great fucking twat! I bet you hardly now him! 

He raged on silently inside his head, being carefully not to let it all show on his face. Surreptitiously, he checked his watch. Ten past two. Where was Snape? He said that he'd be there! Draco had received the letter in a state of angst, as Snape had his. What he had read, he saw as positive, although now...was he being foolish? Would Snape ever turn up? 

He waited seemingly forever until he saw a lone, dark figure striding up the driveway. He watched, his inexplicable happiness at seeing the Professor mounting as the figure came into clear view. It was indeed, Snape, though looking distant and slightly melancholy, in his own, discreet way. Draco fought to keep a straight face. He wanted to smile, laugh with pleasure so much! He caught himself. This isn't like you?! What happened to cool, calm, don't care Malfoy? He exclaimed at himself in silent surprise. Before he could answer, Snape reached him.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," he said sombrely. 

"Professor Snape, sir," Draco replied formally, "I'm so glad you could make it."

"So am I," he said, and moved on through to the hallway, leaving Draco, confused, behind him. What did that mean? Was he being so...proper and correct for a reason? Or had he forgotten that night already? It was hardly a month ago! 

Draco hadn't forgotten. It ran through his mind like a stuck gramophone record, playing nothing else.  What did Snape think? He refused to let himself call Snape Severus. What if he said it out loud? Then there would be trouble. 

He looked down the list of invited guests. They were all there except Aunt Mildred. He paused, wondering what he should do about her. It was quarter past, and they should probably get the ceremony moving along, before it started raining. Then he remembered; she wasn't coming.  She had sent him an owl that morning explaining that she couldn't. Draco's heart lightened a little more. He hated the woman with a passion, she was like a cat, hissing and scratching, always making trouble.  As funeral's went, he thought to himself, this one isn't go so badly. At the moment. 

He went inside to the warmth at last and into the main sitting room. He wove his way between the hordes of people, all of whom seemed intent on talking to him, to get to his mother. She was sitting on a chair, delicately dabbing her eyes with the corner of a black-laced handkerchief.  She was surrounded by a group of sympathetic women, who, to Draco at least, all looked more or less identical. Fighting his way through (in a polite manner, of course), he got to his Mother and told her that they should hurry up with the ceremony. She looked at him blankly for a moment, as though wondering what he was on about before saying, 

"Of course, dear, the weather's perfectly ghastly today..." she dabbed the corners of her eyes again. 

Finally, they got the ceremony underway, and the burial finished with. Malfoy Manor had it's own private graveyard in the gardens, exclusively for the Malfoy family. It was tastefully done; white lilies, rosewood coffin with silver trimmings...no expense had been spared. 

For one of the few moments since he had left Hogwarts, Draco thought of something other than Snape. He thought of his father. He stood at the edge of his congregation with his Mother and other close relations. He tried not to cry too much. 

They left the graveyard in silence. No one talked until they got back into the living room, where the house elves had laid out a buffet for the guests. Only then did conversations start, quietly at first, people talking of the dead man in hushed voices. As time passed, they steadily became louder and more forward, the odd laugh here and there gently punctuating the room. Draco mingled with the guests, as his mother had previously instructed him to. 

After half an hour or so of being told how good he was and how well he had dealt with it, he managed to escape behind a set of screens that hid one corner of the room. He used to hide here when he sulked when he was little. Now he used it as a quiet place. Behind the screen was a bid, brass chest, big enough for Draco to fit into easily, if he so desired. For now, however, he sat on top of it, leaning against the wall, listening lazily with his eyes closed, to the conversations that were being held outside his little recluse. 

"... he was a great man, of course, won't find another like him..."

"...we're they going to read the will later?..."

"...wonder how the boy will cope..."

"Hiding, Draco?" 

The last voice was quiet and came from horribly nearby. His eyes shot open to see Snape standing over him, smiling slightly. Draco blushed.

"Sorry, I..."

Snape shook his head.

"Don't apologise," he said quietly. " I know it all seems...so false some how, doesn't it?" 

Draco's heart was beating hard in his chest. Snape was speaking to him as an equal! He nodded. He didn't know whether he trusted himself to speak. 

"How are you anyway?" asked Snape, leaning himself against the wall next to Draco. Draco shrugged.

"Alright, I suppose. Could be better," he said, as coolly as he dared.

There was a pause.  

"I suppose we need to talk," Snape said reluctantly, regret showing on his face. 

"Mmmm," Draco agreed, wondering whether this was good or bad. 

The pause returned. Behind the screen, Draco heard someone calling for attention in an authoritative manner.  He glanced quickly up at Snape. 

"You'd better go, quick, before you're missed. I'll get out later," he said, calmly. Draco nodded and slipped from behind the screen, back into the crowd.  The man who had called for attention turned out to be none other than his father's lawyer. He was asking everyone to go next door for the reading of the Will. The room buzzed with excitement, making Draco feel sick. Vultures! They filed out of the Living room, and into the room next door where there were rows of chairs set out facing a small portable podium like stand. 

Draco wondered briefly about his Father's Will. He knew that he would inherit the house and grounds eventually, not to mention the fortunes that lay in Gringrotts.  He sat in a chair at the back and waited.


	11. The Funeral - Part II

Chapter 11

DISCLAIMER: Miss Rowling owns it all *** **sob** * !Except the plot, and the peculiar people who are insisting on wandering around, stealing silver spoons. . . they are mine! ALL MINE! Like that's something to be proud of. . .**

Oh, yes, thanks go again to Ambrosius, for giving me the word melancholy to replace sorrowful! Thank you!

Alysun

The Funeral- Part II

Snape stood behind the screen patiently as the herd of scavengers, as he saw them, streamed out. He heard the door being closed, but still didn't move. After assuring that the room was clear, he strode out after them, and slipped into the big room next door. 

The room was busy; mostly with people squabbling over seats at the front. As unobtrusively as possible, he made his way quietly to the back, and sat at the end of the row, by himself. Draco was at the other end, but Snape ignored him. There was no need to bring attention to themselves, especially a  time like this. He was worried about Draco; he seemed distant somehow. They would have to talk some time soon, Snape thought. It couldn't carry on this way. 

Finally, after the group had sorted themselves out, (the losers slinking away towards the back), the man at the front stood up on his little stand. The mumbling undertone of whispers stopped, and he started talking. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce myself as Mr. Cleveland, the late Mr. Malfoy's lawyer." 

He paused momentarily, for effect, and Narcissa took  the opportunity to sniff, loudly in a tortured manner. Snape felt a stab of irritation. If she thought she felt bad. . .! The lawyer continued.

"He wrote his last Will and Testament on the 13th of December, last year. It is fairly short and straight forward.  It hearby states the following. . .A-hem," He paused and shuffled his notes. 

"I, Lucius Malfoy, sound of both body and mind declare this to be my Last Will and Testament. All instructions heard from here onward MUST be followed, to ensure my peace of mind. 

Draco Malfoy, my eldest and only son is to receive responsibilities of Malfoy Manor and it's grounds from the reading of this will. He will inherit half the contents of Gringrotts cell 729, when he has reached the age of 20. . ." 

The man droned so, thought Snape lazily. He wasn't interested in the will, but the rest of the congregation, excluding one or two, we listening hungrily, waiting for their names to be mentioned, doubtlessly hoping for a long number to accompany it. A few names that Snape had heard Lucius mention in passing were given certain items, and others looked more and more dejected as the list carried on. Snape was shocked when he heard his name mentioned.

". . .to Professor Severus Snape of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I leave the following three books. . .Moste Potente Potions,  Dillemand of Atlantis, and the Notes of Mindrel Clarkes. Under no circumstances should he be refused these books, on my insistence.  The rest will be left to my dear wife, Narcissa Petunia Malfoy. " 

He finished and looked up.

No one was listening. They were staring at Snape, who was staring at the ceiling in dismay. Of all the people to be mentioned, his name had created the biggest stir. . .the family resented him because he had something they had, and the friends resented it because he hadn't been seen to be as  close to Lucius as he actually was. . .

Why had Lucius left him these things? Moste Potente Potions, he could understand. Lucius had always said he would give it to him one day, as the school library's copy was so battered now. But Dillemand of Atlantis? It was a romance story, wasn't it? He couldn't remember, he had never been a patron of the classics. The Notes of Mindrel Clarkes was ancient, a book of alchemy, quite out of date. 

Still, Lucius must have had some kind of a reason. . .He realised that an old lady with an umbrella was talking at him.

". . .why should you be left things and me not? I'm his mother! I've never even heard of you, you. . ."

"Grandmother! Father, must have had his reasons, surely? All we can do is trust him. They aren't particularly valuable books, are they? And I can't say you would want them, after all," Draco broke in, coming to Snape's rescue.  The old lady stared at him defiantly, before dropping her gaze and said,

"I suppose not, but really! Not giving anything to his old mother! I slaved for that boy! I worked, I. . ." she turned round and went off mumbling to herself. Snape was cynical that she had ever done anything more than tug a bell pull for work. But still. 

The staring assembly also started to talk by themselves, giving Snape many mutinous glares, which he returned, coolly. Slowly, the group drifted in twos and threes back into the Living Room. 

Snape stayed, deep in thought, in the room, unaware that he and Draco were the only ones left. Dillemand of Atlantis? He knew that it had been banned at one point, for obscenity (probably why Lucius had a copy), but couldn't recall the plot. 

"Sir?" Draco asked. 

Snape snapped back into reality. 

"Mmmm?" he said, in way of a reply.

"Er... Mr. Cleveland said that I was to give you the books now. Shall we go up to the Library?" He asked, hesitantly.  

"Yes, thank you, Draco," he said, and got to his feet.  Draco moved in front of him, opening doors, leading the way to the Library. 

 He didn't know that Snape and Lucius had spent a lot of time in the Library. . .not always reading, admittedly, but usually. Anyway. Snape knew the way, remembering every step like it was a sweet one. They had had many arguments in the Library.  

They reached, after many corridors and staircases; the Library was on the fourth floor.  Draco pushed the oak door open, and led the way into the darkened room. With the wave of his wand, Snape lit the torches on the wall. Draco looked round in surprise. 

"I used to come up here with your Father, "he explained, his voice. . .wistful? He hoped not. 

Draco nodded in understanding, but didn't say anything about it. Snape was grateful for that, at least. 

"Which books do you need, again?" 

Need? thought Snape. Need?! 

"Hm... Moste Potente Potions, Dillemand of Atlantis, and The Notes of Mindrel Clarkes, I believe," he said. 

"Okay. . .I think Dillemand will be in the Classics section, won't it?" 

Snape spread his hands, in an expression of ignorance. 

"I have no idea. I am not overly familiar with the book. But, yes, I imagine that that is where it will be." 

Draco nodded, and they walked through the labyrinth of books shelves. They reached an extensive collection labelled 'Classics' and started searching. It was Draco who found it, at the end of the bottom row. He pulled it out, and handed the well thumbed copy to Snape. 

"I've heard of that," he said. "But I can't think why father would have wanted you to have it, from what I've been told."

"To be honest, nor do I, but never mind. Your father was fond of cryptic jokes. . ." he stopped suddenly.  Draco nodded sympathetically. He knew the feeling when you were talking about something totally unimportant to do with the man, and then realise that he was dead. . .

"The other two should be close together, in the Potions section. Alchemy is near there, anyway," he said softly. He didn't want this! He didn't want Lucius to be dead. . .he didn't want to be here, he didn't want any of it! He felt sick at heart, and nauseous in general. 

Draco nodded silently again, and they made their way to the back of the room where the Potions books were kept. They were stored next to a huge fireplace, which was in turn, was settled with two heart chairs, a table and a drinks cabinet. Snape made a point of avoiding looking at the scene, and concentrated on the books. They soon found it, and shortly after that, Clarkes notes, nearby. 

They paused. Now that Snape had the three books, and their presence in the room, together, was rendered invalid. It was Draco who spoke first.

"You said we needed to talk?" 

Snape gave the smallest of mental sighs. He didn't want to, but it was clear that they had to. There were so many questions to be answered. He looked at his watch, which read twenty past six. Damn! He said that he would be back for half past. . . 

"Yes. Unfortunately, not now. The Head Master is expecting me back at half six. Believe me, we will talk when you get back to Hogwarts. When are you actually coming back?" he asked. It may have been a trick of the light, but he thought Draco looked downcast momentarily. If he did, it was hidden immediately.

"Mother said next term, since there's only a week left of this one."

Snape nodded. 

They walked down from the library, not talking, but conversing pleasantly, conversation drifting randomly from subject to subject. They reached the front door.  

"I'd better go. Thank you for your help," said Snape politely. The funeral guests were still in the drawing room. 

"Yes, sir. Until after Christmas, then," smiled Draco.

Snape nodded curtly in reply. "Until then." 

He turned his back and walked away down the drive, where he would disapperate.  He felt Draco's eyes following him all the way, but he forced himself not to look back. He checked his watch again. He still had to walk up to Hogwarts from outside the gates. He would be late.


	12. Everything that Draco Hated

Chapter 12

Everything that Draco Hated.

Draco looked around his room. That's it, I think, he said to himself, and picked up his heavy suitcase that contained his Hogwarts things. He was going back tomorrow. He checked his watch. Today, even. As quietly as possible, he took his case downstairs and set it ready by the front door. He crept upstairs again, undressed, and went to bed. 

~*~

He stared out of the window on the Hogwarts express. Crabbe and Goyle were the only others there, and they had long since gone to sleep.  Draco was glad; he didn't want their vague comments distracting him, for now at least. 

Christmas had not gone well. His mother had been proclaimed to have a nervous disposition by her doctor, and told to stay in bed doing the very minimum.  A small cynical voice had told him that she did that anyway, but he ignored it, and was the ever faithful son. She was his mother, after all, he couldn't desert her now.  

His thoughts moved onto the now familiar distraction of Snape. He had gone numb; it seemed all so long ago, so surreal. But like Snape had said, they needed to talk, sort things out. Draco was still unclear on why it had happened. All he knew was that they had both gone along with it, and he had initiated it. Even then, he wasn't sure that he initiated it; had Snape not smiled at him, been very . . . well, friendly. But was it friendly, or 'friendly'? That, Draco really didn't know. These thoughts had been going on, round and round in his head for months now. . .well. About two months. Since it had happened. . .

He wasn't looking forward to this 'talk', either. It was going to be awkward. 

And what had gone on at the Funeral? Was Snape that cool underneath? Was he acting it all? Why had he been so regretful to talk? Had he really had to go back then? Had he been so formal because of the people that had been in the house with them? Or because it was his friend's funeral? Draco's brow furrowed in frustration. And the letter. His father's letter remained as mysterious and as ambiguous as ever. He didn't want to ask Snape for help with it either, not after all that had happened. 

It was such a mess! Chaotic, disorganised, everything that Draco hated.

The train drew to a halt at the platform, Draco woke his henchmen, disembarked, and they made for the castle.


	13. Shouldn't Ever have Happened.

Chapter 13

Oh, evil number, evil chapter . .Mwauhahahahahahah. . . . . I'm gonna have fun, but the rest of you won't like me! Thanks, Silverfox! I didn't realise. Schools in Britain (Or at least my school!) Start at nine, which is why I was so confused!! Sorry!

Alright, alright! I'll up the damned rating. . .* goes off and sobs in a corner somewhere *.

Anyway, this should be quite a long chapter to compensate for the shortness of the last one. .  ^_~!!

And PLEASE r/r. . .I'm would start getting depressed if it wasn't for Ambrosius. . .Lol! Alysun

Shouldn't Ever have Happened.

Snape sat in his office, his hands covering his face in despair. Later that day, all the students would be back after Christmas, all of them including Draco. He had had to leave so abruptly last time they met! Damn the Head Master and his bad timing! 

On the desk in front of him lay three things. The two books that Lucius had given him; Dillemand of Atlantis, and The Notes of Mindrel Clarkes (Moste Potente Potions was on one of his expansive books shelves), and beside them lay a letter, addressed to Severus in a small, slanted handwriting.

Snape had found it in Dillemand of Atlantis. He had read Dillemand, in hope of finding dome clue to why Lucius had left it to him. He had found two. One, was the letter that was hidden within the pages, and the second was the plot itself.  Clarkes Notes didn't make any sense, however. Lucius must have had a reason though surely? But still, surely?

Draco was coming back. Part of him wanted to see Draco again, badly, to touch him, to feel him . . .the rest of him screamed sense. He was his teacher! He couldn't go round with a student, even if he was in the upper school! What if they were found? It had been dangerous enough when it had been Lucius, but at least he had been. . . well, an adult.

 If they were found, then Severus would be blamed, certainty fired, likely to be outcast, and may even have to pay a visit to Azakaban. Not what he wanted. But what could he tell Draco? Draco would rationalise. Say that if they were careful, they would be alright, if they were found, that he would speak in Snape's defence. . . A cold hard, cynical part of his mind told him that he wanted to stop it because of Lucius, and then followed up by saying that he DID look like his Father, and even act like him, in some ways. . . so many ways, in fact. . .

Snape slammed his fist down on to the desk in frustration. He stood up and, ignoring the many sheets of parchment that were now serenely floating to the floor from his desk, stormed out the office. 

He was ANGRY. Angry at himself for felling like this, angry with Draco for making him feel like this, angry at Lucius for being murdered and making the whole situation arise. 

He strode furiously through the halls, he footsteps echoing hollowly in the empty corridors. Up the stairs out of the dungeons, slamming doors with such force that they hit the wall and sprang back again.  He reached the Great Hall, his long gait eating up the distance. Through the hall, out of the castle onto the frosty grounds.  The cold air and brisk wind sapped his anger slightly, as he walked around the grounds in a state of pensiveness.  

He still didn't really know what Draco thought. He was, however, pretty sure that Draco would want to carry on the 'relationship'.  Snape knew they couldn't, mainly, he told himself, because they would be caught or found out. He ignored the fact that the real reason was in case he called Draco Lucius, or something equally embarrassing and awkward to explain. . .  And there was yet another thing! Did he, Severus, feels attracted to Draco because he reminded him so much like his Father, or did he genuinely 'like' the boy? 

Severus's walk had brought him round a circuit of the lake, and he was now in front of the castle entrance again. He felt considerably calmer now, though nothing had been resolved, and went back into the warmth of the castle, deep in thought.  So deep in fact, he almost collided with the Head Master. 

"Severus, do watch where you're going!" Dumbledore reprimanded, after stepping to one side to save himself from being trampled on by the preoccupied Potions Master.  

Snape looked up.

"Sorry, Head Master, my mind was. . . wandering," he said in way of apology and explanation. He made to move on.

"Don't worry. Actually, I was coming to find you anyway; I was wondering if you could help me?"

"Certainty, if I can, I will," said Snape, sighing mentally. This would probably take up the rest of his free time now. 

"Good. Then if you'd like to come up to my office in half an hour or so? I'll talk to you then, I have letters to write before hand, though. . ." Dumbledore smiled at Severus and walked off up the staircase to his office. 

"Half an hour," murmured Snape, wondering what was going to happen.

"Oh, do move along, Severus, you're managing to block the whole corridor standing there!" Minerva's sharp voice snapped him out of his reflective mood. He moved to one side, and she swept past, clutching a mountain of slowly slipping books.

Half an hour? Not long enough to start anything, too long to do nothing. Damn. For lack of anything better to do he went back to his office. 

He opened the door almost reluctantly; he had spent the last week in this room, marking and thinking. He picked up the shafts of parchment that had fallen to the ground in his previous rampage, and dumped them on his desk. HHHnkgjklerjerhdfhklHHe would sort them out later. Half an hour. Not long enough to start anything. He sat down behind his desk. Half an hour. Too long to do nothing. Damn. 

He looked back at Lucius's things; they lay innocently on the desk where he had left them. He picked up the letter, and turned it over in his hands. . .Lucius had written this. . .his Lucius. . .he didn't take the letter out of the envelope; he didn't want to turn up to Dumbledore's office in a preoccupied state. He had to stay alert with that man. Sharp as a knife and twice as dangerous, Snape had long since decided.

He sighed and looked around the room. It was dark, always. Well, it would be. It was down in the dungeons, underground, no windows. On the left wall, there was a bookshelf, wall to floor, that held just about every worthwhile potion there was. On the right was a huge cabinet that held ingredients from Boomslang skin to butterfly wings, shredded or crumbled. 

The desk at which he sat was overcrowded with papers, piles of students work, most marked, some not. Behind him was the door to his bedroom; with the bed he hadn't slept in for about two months now. On the walls were collections of strange pickled things, in which Snape took a delight in hanging. Admittedly, it was mainly to terrify the first years, though it worked tremendously well on the older years as well. 

The fire in the grate had burnt down. Snape checked his watch. Ten minutes left. He may as well go up to Dumbledore's office, and walk very slowly. 

He stood and left the room, walking at a meditative pace up, through the dungeons for the second time, and made for the tower which held Dumbledore's office. He reached the gargoyle and checked his watch again. Three minutes to go. He gave the password and stepped onto the winding staircase which led to Dumbledore's room. On reaching the top, he knocked on the door and entered, after hearing Dumbledore's invitation of,  "Come in!"

He sat on the appointed chair, ill at ease. He found himself wondering whether Dumbledore knew about what had happened between him and Draco. Dumbledore started speaking.

"Severus, I know this must be a hard time for you; you where very good friends with the late Lucius Malfoy, I know. But the funeral was well over a fortnight ago! You're not one to dwell on things such as these. What is going on? Why are you so down all of a sudden?" Dumbledore spoke gently, adopting a fatherly tone.

Snape's mind froze up. What could he say? The only answer he could come up with was the truth, which would NOT go down well at all. Instead, he just shrugged feebly, feeling about twelve years old underneath Dumbledore's laser stare.

"I know I've asked you this before, but has Draco spoken to you at all about this? I'm worried for the boy," said Dumbledore.

Snape shrugged again. 

"Like I said, only that time after class," he said, emotionlessly. 

"Not at the funeral?" 

"Only very briefly. "

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. He leant back in his chair and stared distantly out of the window. Snape sat staring down at the floor, not moving. 

Dumbledore sighed, and said, "Severus, I'll be frank with you." He sounded old. Severus fought with himself to remain calm. "I think that there is something else, something bigger, on his mind. I want to know what it is." 

Snape thought furiously. What would he do if Dumbledore had been talking about anyone else? Keeping his face carefully neutral, he looked up at him and said coolly, "I'm sorry sir, but I'm not sure what you mean. What else could be on his mind?" 

Dumbledore subjected Severus to a penetrating stare, which Severus returned, blankly. Dumbledore leaned forward on his desk.

"Severus, you know something. I don't know what it is, but it is important. Lucius Malfoy was suspected of being one of Voldemort's biggest followers. Why was it never proven?" 

So, thought Snape angrily, he's accusing me. He let his anger bubble up.

"Are you accusing me, Head Master?" he asked sharply.

"Yes. I think you had something to do with it. But I will let that go. This time. But if I find that you do the same again, for Draco, for instance. . ." The threat hung in the air.

"Indeed. I told you back then, and I will tell you again, now. I had no idea whether Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater or not.  As for his son, I know even less, other than what I teach him," Snape lied, unblushingly. 

The winter's air would have seemed tropical compared to that in the room. After another short staring contest, Dumbledore gave in and sighed. "I am sorry, Severus. I believe you. I was wrong to make groundless accusations. But there are things that you are not telling me. You have never told me everything, not even when you turned spy for me. I let it go then, I thought that there might have been some one else involved. . .but now, Severus, now Voldemort's shadow lies on the land again, and everything is important! We have kept him at bay this long, but for how much longer can we withhold? We need everything we can get. Please tell me, Severus," Dumbledore pleaded. 

Severus felt a rare wave of guilt sweep over him. He must say nothing.

"There is nothing I can tell, Head Master. I'm sorry," he murmured. He looked away as he said it, unable to meet his superior's gaze. 

"Severus, lives depend on it," Dumbledore pressured.

Snape shook his head, but shifted uncomfortably. This little talk was bringing back memories that he had hoped were long forgotten.

"There is nothing, Head Master," he repeated again, his voice low. Dumbledore sighed. 

"There is something. I know there is. But you won't tell me and I can't make you, so you may leave." 

Grateful, though still suffering from guilt, Snape stood to leave. There was only one question left.

"Headmaster. . ." he started.

"Yes?" 

"What did you mean, when you said that you thought there might have been someone else involved?" He was worried about his and Lucius's secret.

"Well, I thought maybe. . .a woman . .?" answered Dumbledore, a smile playing around his face.

Snape felt him self blush slightly. "No, there was nothing like that," he answered and fled the room.  He stepped onto the staircase that took him back down to the gargoyle. 

Well, at least he doesn't know I'm gay, thought Snape, and went back to his lonely abode down in the dungeons.

~*~ 

He was sitting at the head table, looking down the Slytherin table in hope of seeing Draco. Part of him laughed at himself for this foolish action, but didn't stop him from doing so. 

There. . .he had spotted him, talking to Pansy Parkinson, who seemed to be enjoying herself a bit too much, for Snape's liking.  Draco must have felt his eyes on him, as he looked up at Severus, who looked away quickly.  

He knew that Dumbledore was watching him now, wanting to know everything that Snape hadn't told him, then and now. 

What Dumbledore didn't realise was that some things should never be told. In his gory past, there were some things that should never even be thought about. Some things that should never have happened.  Shouldn't _ever_ have happened.


	14. Half Past Twelve

Chapter 14

Half Past Twelve

Draco sat at the Slytherin table, amusing Pansy with his rambling small talk, his eyes firmly fixed on her and her alone, now. He had felt Snape staring earlier, and when he had turned, he had been disgusted when he turned away. If that was the game he was playing, Draco told himself, he couldn't be bothered with him any more. He was annoyed now. He was convinced that Snape had run away from the funeral, using Dumbledore as a  convenient excuse for his departure, and now he ignored him. 

They would talk and that would be IT. No more, the last time, a termination, the end. No more talks, no more thinking of Snape, no more worrying about what Snape thought of him. He would wait until Friday, and that would be it. Either Snape would resolve it, or he, Draco, would end it. He wasn't going to beg. 

And yet. . .and yet he still wanted him. . .to feel his breath on his skin, his touch, gentle, soft. . .harsh, rough. . . 

No. He would wait until the end of Friday's potion lesson, and then it would end.

~*~

Friday rolled around. Draco's determination for the end had started to crumble, slightly, but he was convinced that Snape had run away. Coward, Draco thought viciously, savaging a dead caterpillar. Damn imbecile that he is, I don't CARE! He told himself, over and over. 

The problem was that he did care. He wanted to care. But Sev. . .SNAPE had run away. He had left. He had said they needed to talk, and then left! And ignored him then! Deliberately looked away! Draco threw the mangled remains of the caterpillar into him bubbling cauldron, and started on grating unicorn horn. 

The lesson ended, and Draco stayed behind. When the last of the class had piled out, Snape finally turned to him, nothing, no emotions registering on his face. He doesn't care! Gods, he doesn't care. . .he felt sick. So bloody cold. . .did he feel nothing for him? 

"Draco," Snape said softly. At the sound of his voice, deep and powerful, all the hate that Draco had felt for Snape's cowardice slipped away, forgotten. 

Looking at him, he said, "We need to talk," plainly and quietly. Quite calmly in fact, all his hate gone at the sound of his name.

Snape nodded.

"It is inevitable," he said, quietly.

"Yes. it is. And you can't run this time," said Draco, unfeelingly, but  only half heartedly so. He didn't want Snape to get away with that. No-one ran away from Draco when he wanted to talk.  Snape looked surprised.

"Run away? I don't run away from anything, Draco." 

"You did last time. In the Library?" 

Snape's brow furrowed. "The Head Master was insistent that I was to be back. He would have been suspicious if I had done otherwise. You should know that," he sounded vaguely perplexed. Draco gave up. There was no point in this. The talk, he reminded himself.

"When? Now? It is the end of lessons, anyway," he suggested.

Snape shrugged. 

"I would prefer it to be after midnight, as there would be less chance of discovery, but if that's what you want. . .?" 

Draco shrugged also.

"I don't mind. Where shall meet then?" Draco felt a ridiculous shiver of excitement run down his back. A rendezvous! 

Snape paused thoughtfully. He didn't want to meet in his office. It was too near the bedroom. 

"In here. Half twelve. Don't be late, and make sure no-one knows," he said at length.

Draco nodded and left.

Snape tidied his desk briefly, and looked round the room. Satisfied that it was tidy, he left also, locking the door behind him. 

The torches flickered at the closing of the door, and as the shadows adjusted, a new one joined their midst. It grew slowly, lengthening and forming. It finished in human form. A tall figure stepped out from the corner, no longer invisible. Producing a master key, the figure let itself out. 

"Half past twelve," whispered Albus Dumbledore to himself, locking the door behind him.


	15. What Should he Do?

Chapter 15.  
  
Read and review! Read and review!! Thanks to all those who have, especially Ambrosius, Silverfox and Pervert Bitch.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I own the plot. Not the characters/settings etc. Just the plot.  
  
What Should he Do?  
  
Snape sat waiting in the darkened classroom. He had only lit one torch, and he was sitting away from it's light. Anyone entering the room would not be able to see him at all. It was exactly half past twelve. He had arrived five minutes early, to make sure that he was there before Draco. He believed that first impressions were important. A quiet knock came on the door. Severus left it unanswered. The door opened slowly, and Draco's head came into view, peering into the gloom. Noiselessly, he slipped in and closed the door behind him. He checked his watch and looked round. "Snape?" He whispered into the darkness. "Draco," answered Snape, moving into the torches flickering light. The silence that followed was not an easy one to break. They stood and stared at each other, both unsure where to start. Finally, Snape drew out two stools from underneath the bench nearest the lighted torch, sat in one, and offered the other to Draco with a wave of his hand. Draco took it. The pause returned. "So," said Snape finally, sensing that Draco would not break the silence. "What happens next?" "I don't know," answered Draco, quietly. He has such a beautiful voice, Snape noted before he could stop him self. Melodic. "We must forget about it, Draco," he said, contradicting his thoughts. "I know we must. But I can't! I can't stop thinking about. . ." Snape wondered whether Draco had stopped just before an 'it' or a 'you'. "It's not easy," he said, ambiguously. Draco looked up sharply. "You've done something like this before, haven't you?" he said, astutely. "But never with a student," Snape confirmed, glad of the bad lighting. The conversation stopped again. This time, Draco broke it. "It's not. . .I can't. . .It's not easy. I still want. . .you," he started hesitantly. The last word was a whisper. Snape closed his eyes and ran a hand through lank hair. "It's not easy. It's never easy. It should never have happened. We can't carry on what we should never have started," he said. He had meant to say it firmly, but it came out slightly longingly. "We could," Draco murmured. This time the silence was electric. "No. We couldn't. Someone would discover us somewhere. We must be practical." "But you'd like to?" Damn, damn, damn, damn! Thought Snape. Why had Draco picked up on that?! Why couldn't he just ignore it?!! "That's beside the point, the imp. . " "No, that IS the point, Severus!" Draco cut across him, and finished more calmly, "Snape, sorry." Snape leant on the desk and buried his head in his hands. "No, no, no, no it's not, Draco! It's more complicated than that! It's not just the fact that you're a student and I'm you're teacher, there are other issues here too! For gods sake, do you even know whether you're gay or not?!" Snape could feel Draco stare. "I. . ." Draco gave a shrug that Severus couldn't see, his head still buried in his hands, "I must be. " The silence returned. Snape sighed, and lifted his head to meet Draco's watchful gaze. "Wait there," he said, and stood up. He left the room in the swish of a cloak. He went into his office, and snatched up the letter and book that still lay there. He swept back into his classroom, and returned into the light. He sat back down and lay the two things on the desk, the letter folded and back in its envelope. Draco stared. "Now listen, Draco," began Snape, quietly, not quite sure where he was going with the sentence. "Tell me, what do you know about Dillemand of Atlantis?" he said, deciding it to be the only really feasible option. Draco shrugged again. "I know it was banned when it was published. I know Father read it when I was about nine. I know that he left it to you. That's it really." Snape nodded, he turned the book over and over in his hands, almost unthinkingly so. "It was banned for what were considered. . .a-ha, inappropriate content. You know that. The content was homosexual issues. The protagonist, or main character, Dillemand, fell madly in love with his best friend and companion, Mercer. It tells of how they went on adventures, and Dillemand's love for his companion grew, until eventually, they ," Snape searched for the right phrase. " Got together, if you like. They were found out, outcast and persecuted by their city and so on. . ." Snape dropped the book heavily onto the desk, where they both stared at it for some time. "But why did he leave it to you?" Draco inquired. Snape feigned ignorance. Shrugging, he said, "Maybe he found out what I am? Maybe he was trying to say that he would have been my friend through anything, thick and thin, I don't know. " Draco appeared satisfied. "What about the letter then? It's in my father's handwriting." Snape picked the letter up in turn. "In this letter, he told me to watch over you, look after you. If we carry on like this. . . would I be betraying his last request of me?" Draco stared for a moment. "No," he said decisively. Snape shrugged again. "I don't know. I really do not know," he sighed hopelessly. He put the letter back down onto the table and stared into the gloom. Draco reached out and touched Snape's arm lightly. "Severus, you would be caring for me. You want this, I know you do. So do I. If we're careful, we can get away with it." Severus looked back slowly at Draco, who returned his gaze steadily. "Please, I want you so much. . ." Severus closed his eyes. I want you too, he added silently. "I don't know, " he uttered in a low under tone. With out being invited or asked to, Draco moved nearer, and held the despondent professor in his arms, softly stroking his back. Snape's arms snaked around Draco's slender waist and pulled him down so that he sat on his lap. Gently, he kissed him, savouring every moment. There they sat for a while, entwined in each other, thinking of nothing else but themselves. Gradually, Draco's hand slid up Snape's back to find the fastenings there. He started to undo them, one by one, carefully methodically. Unthinkingly, Snape's hand found Draco's top fastening, and then. . . He stopped. "No, Draco," he whispered. Draco drew back slightly. "Why not? No-one knows we're here. No-one will find us. You WANT this, I know you do. . ." He whispered back, enticingly, running his fingers lightly up and down Snape's spine. "Because," answered Snape. "That's no reason, let yourself go. . ." "No, we mustn't, Draco, Draco, oh, stop it, Draco," moaned Snape, as his partner's hand moved further down. "No. One last time, just one last time," breathed Draco, and pushed Snape onto the desk top. Snape gave in. There was no way he could stop this now. He unhooked Draco's robes quickly, and rolled on top of him, kissing , stroking, feeling. . . The bench was hard and unyielding as they lay on it, but it severed as a bed well enough.  
  
They finished. Snape sat at the end of the bench, hanging his head in guilt. What had he done? Lucius, Lucius, he had betrayed his Lucius. . .So long had he been faithful, waiting for their reunion, and then on the day of his murder . .oh, Lucius, what have I done? He felt Draco watching him. He turned, and looked over his shoulder at him. He looked concerned. "Are you alright?" he asked Snape shrugged, and looked away. "We shouldn't have done that. It wasn't right," he answered lowly. Draco shook his head. "We should, if we wanted to. It's alright. Father's gone now, he won't know, and if he did, he wouldn't mind. . ." he whispered. "Won't he? Who says he's not watching us now? There's no guarantee, Draco. It was wrong of us to start all this," he said quietly, guilt coursing through him.  
  
Draco paused. Of course he didn't know if his Father was watching him or not. But why did Severus feel so bad? There was nothing either of them could do about it, so surely, they could forget it. He stared at his teacher's back; broad shoulders, strong and muscular, lean, wiry. He let his eyes move down. . .the sown his spine, down to the small of his back, base of his spine. . .the flickering torch light showed unevenly on his skin here. Draco moved closer to see. Yes, there it was again! Looking as closely as he dared with out disturbing Snape, he tried to work out what it was. Squinting slightly he saw. Scars. Running over each other, crossing, dancing in the torch light. Draco gasped slightly.  
  
Snape turned around to see Draco looking at him in horror. "What?" he asked, concerned. "Severus your back!" he whispered urgently. "What about it?" Snape asked, surprised by the boys urgency. Instead of answering directly, Draco ran his index finger along the deepest line that cut through Snape's back. Snape finally realised what he meant. Jumping down from the desk, he snatched his robe from the floor, and threw it on. "Severus, what. . .?" Draco whispered, shocked. "Forget it. It was a long time ago," said Snape harshly, his heart pounding. Fingers shaking, he started doing up the fastenings. How could he have been such a confounded fool?! Now there would be questions, like the questions that Lucius had demanded from him. Don't think of it, he told himself, not here, not now. "Severus, please. . ." implored Draco, looking anxious. Hearing his tone, Snape looked back at him, panic slipping from him at the sight of his concern. "I'm sorry, Draco," he said, calmly, sensitively, almost. "It was a long time ago, best left forgotten." "What is? Tell me, you can trust me," Draco said. Snape shook his head. "No. It was. . .no. Just don't, please. There are some things that I will tell no-one, not even Dumbledore, though gods know how hard he's tried to make me." "It troubles you though. Who did this to you? Why?" Draco persisted. Snape looked at him. He was enough like his Father not to stop until he had a half decent answer. He sighed, tossed Draco he robes, and sat down on a stool. "You know I was a Death Eater, yes?" Draco nodded. His father had told him once, when he was much younger. "Well. Shall we just say that. . .the Dark Lord gets what he wants when he wants it," risked Snape, not quite meeting Draco's gaze. "You mean. . .?!" Draco gasped, staring. "Do not jump to conclusions. I have told you far too much as it is. Forget it, don't bring it up again, please. And what ever you do, don't go and tell Dumbledore," Snape intoned. Draco nodded, slightly dazed. The silence filled the room again. "Is this the end?" he asked softly. Snape looked up at his face, pale as ever, his hair was messy but still the same silver blonde, the grey eyes imploring him to say no. "I. . .it must be, Draco" answered Snape, unwillingly, sadly. Draco said nothing but nodded, excepting this as the last time. He pulled his robes over his head, and fastened them. Snape collected various bits of Draco's clothing that lay on the floor, and handed them to him. He dressed himself. There was no conversation, both thinking their own thoughts. They stopped, both fully dressed. "This is it then," murmured Draco, and turned to leave. "Draco," Snape stopped him suddenly. "Yes?" he answered, hopefully. "Please. . .do one thing for me. . ." started Snape, watching Draco standing ready to leave. "What is it, Sev. . .sir?" Draco asked, feeling Snape's eyes on him self consciously. Snape paused for a moment. Could he ask this of him? "Draco, please. . .what ever happens, don't join the Death Eaters. I don't want to see you hurt. . ." he said in an undertone. Draco stared at him again. There was a very long silence. "Alright. I'll try, but Mother is very. . .vocal on the matter. . ." he said at length. Snape nodded. He knew that she would be. "Thank you. . .goodbye, Draco," he said. "Goodbye, Severus," answered Draco, a sad smile on his aquiline face. He left. Snape stared at the door after him. He shook himself. No. that was it, the end. Don't think of it any more. . . but the scars, the scars. . .it had been so long ago. . .  
  
It had been after a meeting with the Dark Lord, Snape knew that. Only because his mask was one the chair next to his cloak and robes, but it was something at least. He looked around the room in hope of some clue as to where he was. When he came round, his first thought was that Lucius had brought him here, but Lucius, he knew, would never do something like this. The room was dark, and badly lit. Snape could vaguely make out the shapes of torture weapons from all over the world, from different ages, hanging on the wall and in display cases. He was tied to a four poster bed, eagle spread, naked. He had struggled with his bonds, but it was hopeless. Securely tied would have been an understatement. He looked up sharply as he saw the door in the corner of the room open. To his horror, it was the Dark Lord himself who walked through, in plain black robes, carrying a whip. " Ah, Severus. . . you're awake I see," he had said, closing the door behind him. It locked with a loud click. "My Lord, what . . .?" asked Snape, terrified of the whip carrying spectre that stood at the end of the bed. "Are you faithful Severus? Would you do anything for me?" the Dark Lord asked, moving round, to sit on the bed by Snape. "Yes, my Lord," answered Snape staring. What the hell was going on? Surly not. . .? "Yes, Master, in here, Severus," said Voldemort, smiling ever so slightly, and ran his unnaturally long slender fingers over Snape chest. "Yes, Master," whispered Snape in horrified fascination. Voldemort's fingers moved down -  
  
STOP IT! Snape thought sharply to himself, almost hysterically. The images conjured from his imagination flickered and died. That had been the first time. It wasn't so bad the first time, he had thought it would be the last time, the only time. But it wasn't it went on. Snape never remembered going into the room, or getting undressed, or how he got out of it. It became a torture, waking up every day, just in case he found himself in that room. He hadn't used the whip at first but as time moved on, he used it more and more, and sometimes, he used the other implements that filled the room with it. That was why Snape had left Voldemort and turned spy. He couldn't cope with it. He had only told Dumbledore half of it; he had just said that the Dark Lord. . .played with him. Cat with mouse, he had said. Lucius knew more, though Snape told him nothing. He had written in the letter that he knew. . . Memories cast shadows in Snape's mind, playing scenes from that room in his head. . . raped over and over again. . .him, Severus Snape, single minded, independent, strong, taken as easily as a child from the streets. It hurt to think of it. Extinguishing the torch and making sure that the room was as he left it, Snape left for his office.  
  
A voice that was barely a whisper lit its wand. Slowly, Albus Dumbledore came into view. He was pale. It took a lot to shock him, but this. . .What should he do? 


	16. One Big Mess. . .

Chapter 16.  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters ain't mine, and nor are the settings. Just the plot, and all the twisted sick bits. * g *  
  
Thanks reviewers! If you leave you're e-mail addresses in you're reviews, I'll e-mail when I've got any chapters up; I know I haven't got any regular patterns! Wah! Ambroius, your wonderful fic has ended! NO! Attention, everyone! Go and r/r 'The Sound of Home' by Ambrosius, it's great!! But read and review mine first, if you would, ^_~!!  
  
One Big Mess. . .  
  
What should he do? The question went round and round in Dumbledore's head, over and over, with no sensible answer. He had known that Severus was hiding something - something serious - but hadn't known what. That was why he had used an Invisibility spell to hide in his lesson with Draco. And then of course, then in the dungeon at half twelve. He had arrived half an hour early, to make sure he was well before the other two. Why had he not suspected it? Why did it never occur to him that Severus was gay? He was not an unattractive man, after all, and he had never, as far as Dumbledore could remember, had a girlfriend after one girl in the first year when he arrived at Hogwarts. What had her name been? Dumbledore strained to remember, but to his surprise, he couldn't recall her name. He cursed his usually exceptional memory. He had put the lack of women in Severus's life down to his menacing attitude. I must be getting old, he thought to himself wearily. I should have guessed, I should have seen it coming. . . But Draco? Why had Severus chosen Draco Malfoy, of all people, to be his. . .lover? When had it all started anyway? Who started it? Had Severus seduced Draco, or visa versa? It doesn't make sense! Severus Snape, the most supercilious man Dumbledore could think of, off hand, falling for a boy under half his age! And Draco! Had he not been going out with Pansy Parkinson since their first year here at Hogwarts?! He was too old for this, Dumbledore decided. He was well over seventy now. He had thought, when he had been considerably younger, that at this age, he would be Head Master at a peaceful Hogwarts, all the fighting and darkness in his all done and dealt with long ago. Now the time had come, however, it was worse than the first time Voldemort had risen. What had Voldemort done to Severus? Was it what Draco obviously thought it was? Rape? It would make sense if it was, why Severus had never told him. He had too much pride; it would have hurt his dignity to admit that someone, even someone as infamous as the Dark Lord, had beaten him, made him do something that he didn't want to. It would explain the scars as well. That resolved, Dumbledore moved onto the next point of uncertainty. Why was Severus so cut up about Lucius Malfoy's death? More to the point, why was he trying to hide it so much? Did Severus and Lucius have history there? If there was, Draco obviously didn't know. Were they just good friends? It seemed the more likely option, since Lucius had been married and with a child. What was he going to do about Severus though? By rights, he should be expelled and maybe even put in Azakaban for a short while. But the he seemed to have ended the. . . relationship?. . .with Draco. Had it been an actual relationship anyway? Or was it just like it had been. . .Dumbledore shuddered and for once his life, and cursed his vivid imagination and memory. He would have to talk with Severus. He wouldn't like the fact that Dumbledore had been there at all. Dumbledore didn't like it either. He didn't like spying, as it were, and he could have lived quite happily with out seeing Severus and Draco. . . How many . . .boyfriends had Severus had? It took Dumbledore a moment to get round the fact that Severus was gay. He wasn't homophobic. . .but Severus? He just didn't seem the type. . .there's such a thing as a type, he scorned himself. But then. . .how long had Severus known he was gay? He had seemed to have known what he had been doing fairly well. Fairly well? Very well, by the moans of appreciation that Draco had given. What would have Draco's father have thought if he had known? Dumbledore stood up from his desk, and went over to the black cabinet where he kept his pensive. He brought it out and set it on the desk. Sitting in front of it, he hesitated. If he put these thoughts in, then no-one else could use it. No-one else should, by rights, but if the likes of Harry ever saw it again. . .Dumbledore sighed and pushed it away. He wouldn't do it. He would just have to talk to Snape the next day, or at least later today, and admit to spying. Severus wouldn't like it. Not one bit. Should he talk to Draco as well? No, he resolved. Not unless it was necessary. This explained a lot though. Why the pair have them had been so monotone in their answers to his questions, why Severus had watched Draco's coach so avidly, what Draco had meant at the top of the stairs that day. . . Dumbledore put his head in his hands and groaned softly. What the hell did they think they were playing at? At least Severus had had the sense to end it then, before it went any further. Had Severus been 'involved' with any other students? Oh, it was so complicated! What a mess! One, big mess. . . 


	17. It had Ended

Chapter 17.

It had Ended.

DISCLAIMER: I don't even own the minor characters. . .* sniff *

Just a shorty! 

Draco's head ached. His brain in his head ached. The brain cells in his brain ached. The neurones ached. Against all rationality, the very atoms that made up his head ached. He was sitting in the Slytherin common room, in the dark. The fire was out, as were the torches that were placed around the room. It was four in the morning. Draco couldn't sleep. 

It had ended. 


	18. Things Started to Make Sense

Chapter 18

Lol! Viper (sorry, I've momentarily forgotten your name * is embarrassed *) I will NOT punish you. . . * g *.

No, it wasn't the end, and I'm very, very sorry it was so short. . . all of Draco's chapters will be short for a while, so don't you worry. 

Thanks to all reviewers! 

And I will TELL you when it's ended. * G *

Thanks, Alysun. 

DISCLAIMER: You must know this by now. . . the plot is mine, and that's it!

Things Started to Make Sense

The Head Master had called him up to his office to talk to him. He was worried. Very worried, in fact. What did the man know?! What if he had found out?! 

Snape had managed to lock himself in a small room within his mind, torturing himself with these thoughts. He can't know anything, he rationalised with himself, after all, both times, they it had been in the middle of the night, and in Snape's rooms. Well, and the classroom, but that had been locked. And he would have had to been in the lesson to overhear when they were meeting. 

Snape remained uneasy. There had been something foreboding and sinister in the way that Dumbledore had told him to go to his office. He can't know, he can't know. . .

He glanced at the clock. Three o' clock. Six and a half hours to go. 

To pass the time, Snape picked up the letter that Lucius had written to him again, for the millionth time. He already knew it off by heart as it was, but still . . .He scanned through the letter briefly before letting it drop to the table, with a sigh. He turned to the books. Dillemand spoke it's message clearly enough, but Clarkes Notes. . . ? He had read through it, several times now, but still he didn't understand. Was it in the book? Was it about Clarkes? Clarkes life? 

Severus rose from his chair and made his way to the library. It was fairly quiet; most students were in their dormitories or common rooms. A group of Gryffindor first year girls took fright at the sight of him, looming up in front of them, from behind the shelves. 

As they scuttled out at top speed. Snape strode over to the shelves marked, "The History of Alchemy" It was small, for Hogwarts library, only spanning five shelves. 

After looking through them, hopelessly, Snape pulled out a few of the more likely looking volumes and placed them onto an empty table. He sat himself down, and proceeded his tiresome task with little hope. He flicked through the indexes (a/n, why is it, that in the fourth book when Harry was looking for something to let him breathe under water, did they NOT look in the indexes? Surly someone as bookish as Hermione would know that?!) He searched long and hard, for four hours until he found what he wanted. 

He stared at the ending passage unbelievingly. Narcissa? Surely not?

He stared. His own wife? But that was ludicrous. . .

He stared. Unless. . . 

Snape slammed the book shut and earned a Death Stare from Madam Pince. Replacing the other volumes back to their designated shelves, he borrowed the book and left for his dungeons. 

On reaching his destination, he opened the book up again, and re-read Lucius's letter. 

Things started to make sense.


	19. It had Ended

Chapter 19

DISCLAIMER: I want Snape, but it's impossible. . . * G * (thanks, Elton!) 

It had Ended

Draco stared out at the lake. Crabbe and Goyle stood either side of him. Worry for their Master had infiltrated both of their little brains. Draco didn't care. Draco didn't care about anything any more. His Father had left him. Snape had left him. Who would leave him next? His Mother? In a sense, she already had. Draco didn't cry. He felt numb. He watched the world pass through someone else's eyes. None of it mattered any more. 

It had ended.


	20. It Did Not Bode Well.

Chapter 20.

DISCLAIMER: All I want for Christmas is my Snapey. . .(thanks, strange song writer!) 

Hahahahahahahahahaaa. . . I'm gonna Enjoy this. . . 

Hey, hey, Ambrosius, you gotta wait for answers!! Lol!! 

It Did Not Bode Well.

Snape watched the clock on the wall in dread. Ten minutes. He should go. What would Dumbledore ask? Probably something about the mark differences between Slytherin and Gryffindor, again. Or. . .or what? 

Snape left his office, and made his way the Head Master's office. 

He got to the gargoyle, and paused again. He hadn't been hurrying, but there was time still. Three minutes. Dumbledore couldn't know about Draco. 

He gave the password and mounted the staircase. Two minutes. There was no way Dumbledore could know about Draco.

He reached the top. One minute. No reason why Dumbledore should know. None at all. He was being paranoid.

He knocked. Paranoid. That was it.

"Come in," called Dumbledore's voice from behind the door. 

Snape entered and sat down opposite Dumbledore, who was looking older than Snape had ever seen him before. 

Dumbledore sighed before he did anything. He didn't look at Snape as he started to talk. 

" This is going to be. . . difficult, Severus. And I'm not even sure how to begin."

Snape felt ill. What little colour there was in his face drained, leaving him as white as one of the ghosts. Dumbledore didn't notice. 

". . . have you had many girlfriends, Severus?" 

Severus stared. What the. . .?! Where did that come from?!

". . .sorry?" asked Snape, thrown out by the totally random content of the question. Dumbledore didn't appear to be listening.

". . .or should I say boyfriends?"

There was an uncertain pause. 

Oh My GODS!!!!! He knows, he knows, he KNOWS!!!!

"A-hem. I fail to understand you, Professor," play safe, he told himself. 

"Why did you never tell me, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, finally looking a Severus.

"Tell you what, Head Master?" 

"That you are gay, Severus. It would have saved me a lot of time," answered Dumbledore.

"The question never arose, " he answered, coolly. It was obvious that Dumbledore now knew what he was for sure. How? What else did he now? 

"I suppose. . .still," sighed Dumbledore. He made no indication that Snape should leave, so he stayed, uneasy, while Dumbledore thought. 

". . .this is where it gets really awkward," Dumbledore, said, to himself. 

Snape heard, and shifted warily in his chair. 

"How well do you know Draco, Severus?" He questioned, after much thought. 

Snape drew a ragged breath. This was not good. HE KNEW!!!!!!

" Barley. I teach him, and I am the head of his house. I knew his Father well, but that was before he was born," lied Snape. Dumbledore was watching him like a hawk. 

"Severus, I have to congratulate you on one thing. If I didn't know otherwise, I would have believed you. You are a very good liar. Unfortunately, I know otherwise," Dumbledore said, quietly, still watching, waiting for Snape's reaction. 

Snape froze. he really did know. He knew everything. This was the end. He would be thrown out of teaching, outcast. . .

"Really?" he asked, in a mildly curious voice. "What is it that you know?" 

Dumbledore leaned forward onto the desk that separated him from Severus.

"Too much. For your liking anyway. I was there. Last night, I was there, " intoned Dumbledore, his brow drawn into a frown, his blue eyes flaming with anger. 

Snape died inside. Oh gods. . . 

"Ah," he said, unable to think of anything else to say. 

"Yes. Ah, indeed. Maybe you'd like to explain exactly what you were thinking?" 

Snape stopped himself from looking away, or guilty, or showing any sign of emotion at all. He would have to deal with this. 

"I wasn't," he answered, quietly. 

"That would explain a lot. Unfortunately for you, I don't believe you. You are not the kind of man to randomly pick a student and then . . .," Dumbledore glared. 

Snape looked away. So much for that, he thought. Why had he? Was it just because he looked like Lucius? Or did he, gods forbid, actually have. . .feelings? . . .for Draco?

"I need to know why, Severus. What you have done, is highly disapproved of. . .By rights, I shouldn't even be asking you for excuses," said Dumbledore, softly. His rage had diminished on seeing Snape battle with himself to hide his feelings. 

"I know. It wasn't. . .it wasn't supposed to happen. . ." answered Severus, quietly. 

"I can imagine. I take it that that was not the first time though?" 

Snape steeled himself. Dumbledore would not like this at all. 

"Second"

"Ah."

Silence filled the room like treacle, thick and hard to break through.

"What happened the first time. . . ?" asked Dumbledore, cautiously. 

Snape sighed. He should have known that it would come to this. 

"Draco had received the letter, informing him of Lucius's death. He was upset, and came to find me. Don't ask me why, I don't know. I had also heard the news, and did my best to comfort the boy. " Snape paused. This was extremely embarrassing. 

"Go on," commanded Dumbledore.

Snape closed his eyes briefly, before opening them and continuing, 

" We went into my room, where we talked, for about half an hour or so. Well, Draco talked, and I listened. He was upset, as you would expect. He was about to leave, when. . .when. . ." Snape closed his eyes again. Dumbledore said nothing, for which he was grateful for. "And then, he kissed me," Snape finished. 

"Was that it?" inquired Dumbledore.

Snape winced slightly. 

"No. I took leave of my senses then, too, apparently. "

Neither said anything for a while, both digesting what Snape had just said. 

It did not bode well.


	21. I Told You So

Chapter 21.

DISCLAIMER: The plot's mine, but nothing else, what's more of a pity. 

I Told You So.

Draco stood on the Battlements of Hogwarts Castle. He had wondered in the past why a castle, designed solely for the use of education would ever need Battlements. he didn't think of that now. He thought of nothing. It didn't matter any more. Crabbe and Goyle stood either side of him still. They had been faithful to him, though stupid. 

The wind whipped through Draco's fine, blonde hair as he climbed up onto the wall. He looked down. It was a long way down. Far enough for it to be half the length and kill him anyway. 

He heard Crabbe leave, running. Probably for help. Goyle was saying something. Draco didn't care. He was watching a miniature figure of Hagrid digging in his pumpkin patch. From up here, he looked as small as a toy soldier, not the seven foot figure that he really was. 

The sky was blue. It was a clear day, though the wind was cold, whipping away any heat that the weak sun brought. Draco wondered what death was like, lazily, as he shuffled closer to the edge. He heard Crabbe return, with someone else, who was breathless from running. 

"Draco Malfoy, get down from there, at once!" A voice snapped. MacGonagoll, thought Draco absently. She a bit of a stuck up cow, but she was alright, really, when it came down to the bit. It didn't matter. 

"Severus," he whispered. It was Sunday. Friday had been the day that Severus had ended it. . . he heard MacGonagoll snap something to Crabbe, who left again. 

"Severus, Severus, what have you done? Severus. . ." he repeated over and over, under his breath. 

"Malfoy, this is unacceptable! Come down, right now!" commanded MacGonagoll. Didn't she understand? He would tell her.

"It's ended," he told her. 

"What has?" she asked, surprised. 

"Everything," he answered. He took another step closer to the edge. One more would take him over. 

Crabbe was back with someone else.

"Oh, thank god you're here, Severus! Where's Dumbledore?"

"He's coming Minerva, calm down," answered Severus's brusque voice.

Draco heard Snape's quick impatient footsteps advancing towards him. 

"Draco, what are you doing?" he asked, quietly. 

"It's ended," answered Draco. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Snape stare over the Hogwarts grounds, distantly. He sighed. 

"I know how you feel. You'll get over it," he said, vaguely. 

Nothing happened. They stayed there, standing, one on the brink of death, the other watching. 

"You know, even if you did jump, I wouldn't let you die," said Snape. 

Draco didn't say anything. How would Snape stop him? He was lying. He was good at that. All the same. . . 

"Why?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I let you die?" Snape shifted, and leaned against the wall, his back facing MacGonagoll, Crabbe and Goyle. "Unprofessional? What kind of teacher would let a student kill himself?" answered Snape. 

"Oh," replied Draco, vaguely disappointed. 

Someone else joined the group on the Battlements. 

"Dumbledore, thank heavens! Where have you been?" he heard MacGonagoll cry. 

"Bye, then, "he said, and stepped off the edge. 

He heard a MacGonagoll scream, Crabbe and Goyle shouting after him. He heard Dumbledore cry, 

"Draco, no!"

He didn't hear Snape. Didn't he care? He was half way down now. Sky flashed past. 

Suddenly, he slowed. What? Thought Draco. Is this death? He started travelling up, slowly accelerating as rose. Was he going to heaven? But he hadn't died yet! He was going quite fast now. 

He reached the top of the Battlements, but instead of continuing straight up, he curved, and fell, straight into the waiting arms of Severus Snape. 

He fell at such a speed that he knocked Snape backwards, but he didn't care. 

He stared at the scene that lay before him. Snape was straightening out his robes in his own, ever imperious, manner. MacGonagoll stood to one side, behind Dumbledore, looking as though she was about to faint. Dumbledore himself looked white, but calm. Crabbe and Goyle stood, staring, not comprehending what had happened. 

He looked back at Snape. 

Snape raised his eyebrows, archly.

"I told you so," he said, in an ever so slightly smug voice.


	22. Hopeless

Chapter 22.

DISCLAIMER: I wanna own something! Something more than just the plot anyway. . . .Lol!

Hopeless

Dumbledore was feeling ever increasingly ancient. He thought that Harry was bad! Now he had one of his most senior teachers in serious trouble over a relationship, more over, a gay relationship with a student! 

Snape! What on earth had the man been thinking?! Good god, did he really have feelings for Draco? Draco's suicide attempt certainly showed what he felt well enough. 

Oh, damn it! Why was Severus insisting on being so damn awkward?! He should have fired him by now, at any rate. . .But where would he go? Voldemort's lot was still out there, and there were plenty who had suspicions over his past loyalty. 

And the fact that it WAS Severus. Dumbledore knew that he would never do anything like this again. He wasn't the type. 

Oh, his head ached so much! 

The talk that he had had with Severus had not been informative, as he had expected. At least he knew who had started it. Unless Severus was lying. The talk had ended after Severus had told him what had happened the first time. Dumbledore couldn't bring himself to ask what Voldemort had done to Severus. The poor man was under enough stress as it was. 

He really should owl Fudge telling him about this. Fudge was a fool. he didn't understand people. Money, yes, people, no. No, he would leave Fudge in the dark for now. . .he would only complicate matters even more. 

What would happen next? It was stalemate, almost. Draco had made his move, Severus had blocked it. Draco's turn. What would he do? 

And then there was Minerva in the frame now as well. She wanted to know what was going on, not that he blamed her. She had asked many questions; questions like, 'Why was he calling Severus by his first name?, What did Snape mean when he said "I told you so"? , and 'why was he going to jump in the first place?' Naturally, Dumbledore answered none of them, but it meant that Minerva would now be watching Severus and Draco to see what was going on. 

Oh, it was so Complicated . . .

Now he knew how Draco had felt, at any rate. 

Hopeless.


	23. The Drama Progressed

Chapter 23. Sorry, it has been ages since I've written! So. . .Thanks so much to Pervert Bitch, Silver Fox, Ambrosius, and especially, my new proof reader (* g *). . .*dramatic entrance music* Naomi! Lol! So now you can blame all spelling mistakes on her, instead! ; ). Nah. . . . just feel grateful! DISCLAIMER: I don't even own the spelling/grammar mistakes any more, seeing as there aren't any! The Drama Progressed. Nearly a whole week had passed without incident, mused Snape in his classroom. He had just had the Sixth Year Gryffindors and Slytherins in. Longbottom had, once again, added to the collection of dark stains on the stone floor, while Potter and Weasley muttered mutinously (something that Snape always found vaguely amusing. As if they could do anything) and Granger sulked. As far as Snape could see, there had been some sort of fight. Which was good. He grinned evilly into the empty dungeon. Draco had been very quiet again. He had been all week, but today was an all time low. He hadn't even been listening to instructions, as far as Snape could make out. Not that it mattered. He shook his head. Draco wasn't his problem any more. He'd get over it. In time. Looking at his watch, he noticed that it was time for lunch. He hadn't really felt hungry in a while, but still. . . He picked up the essays and other bits of marking that needed to be completed, and swept down to the Grand Hall for lunch. He reached his place at the table, and sat the papers down to one side. He might as well start looking through them now. He picked up the first one. It was by Draco. Of course, thought Snape angrily, Fate must have it Her way, I see. . . He cast it aside and picked up the next. Potter's. Snape scowled at it, but scanned through it, noting anything that might call for lost marks. He reached the end and grimaced. Potter was catching onto him. Even the usually dodgy grammar had improved. He put it to one side with Draco's. He paused for a while and looked around the chaotic room, and the idiots that filled it. On the Hufflepuff table, someone had put a large, fake, toad on the centre platter, which croaked realistically from time to time. No-one had taken anything from that particular plate. They probably thought that it was real, fools. The Ravenclaw table was the probably the most orderly, although scattered with books and half finished games of chess. The Gryffindor table was the messiest by far; a small food fight had broken out at one end, (probably started by one of those blasted Weasleys), and food, cutlery and plates were everywhere. Slytherins on the far table looked over disapprovingly. They had the best upbringing - and table manners - as parents such as theirs believed in elegance as much as Narcissa did. Idly, Snape let his eyes drift over his house's table, picking out people who he liked, and favoured, disliked, but favoured anyway, disliked and ignored. . . his eyes rested on the bent head of Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle sat either side of him, and in the corner of his range of view, Snape could see Pansy hovering anxiously to get at the poor boy. Draco looked up, and Snape looked away. You do NOT stare at your pupils, Severus, he told himself severely, staring down at his plate, hard. They were both unaware of it, but they were being watched with interest from two quarters. McGonagall and Dumbledore both watched in their own discreet manners, as the drama progressed. Snape stood to leave. Looking up and seeing Snape leave, Draco did also, making his excuses to Crabbe and Goyle, and somehow evading the ready mouth of Pansy. The drama progressed. 


	24. It Had Ended

Chapter 24  
  
* stares * 24. Ohmigod, TWENTY FOUR!!!! Lol! Hope you like it! Thanks to Naomi, for being delightful and proof reading it! If you wanna show her your eternal, neverending gratefulness. . . go and read Fresh Air. It's hilarious. *G* Thanks all, keep reviewing *g* , Alysun.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I wanna own MORE!!!!! *stamps foot like the spoiled child she really should be *  
  
It Had Ended  
  
Draco watched Snape leave the hall. He'd done it again. He was looking at him, and then he had looked away! Would he not get the point! Draco WANTED him! He loved him! He needed him. . . Why had he really saved him from killing himself? The easiest way out, Draco knew, the coward's way, as his father would have said. But his father wasn't here anymore, so it didn't matter. . . Why didn't Snape talk to him? He couldn't just believe it to have finished, surely. . . ? Could he turn his feelings on and off that easily? If he could, Draco envied him. He stood up and followed Snape out of the Hall.  
  
It had Ended.  
  
And now he was Angry. 


	25. Not Now, Not Ever

Chapter 25  
  
Thanks to all reviews and reviewers, Alysun. *Naomi the wonderful proof reader snips her mention because they're starting to annoy her*  
  
DISCLAIMER: Damnation to disclaimers! You get the point!  
  
Not Now, Not Ever.  
  
As Snape left the Great Hall, he didn't see Draco watching him. He didn't see him telling Crabbe and Goyle not to follow him. He didn't see him get rid of Pansy. He didn't see him scowl at his retreating back, momentarily. He didn't see him get up. He didn't see him dodging through the hordes of people. Nor did he see the troubled mind that lay beneath the unapproachable exterior. He didn't see anything. He walked, clutching the mound of marking in his usual, stalking manner, glaring at the Gryffindors, waiting for no- one and nothing. He thought fleetingly of the glance that Draco had given him, but soon dismissed it from his mind. He was halfway down the corridor when he was stopped by an angry, maddened shout of - "STOP!" The whole corridor froze, and turned to look at the owner of the voice. Snape turned also. Draco stood, in a small clearing of his own; people had backed away from him, getting out of the line of fire, so to speak. One group of timid first years had even flattened themselves against the wall, which was, thought Snape upon seeing them, an extreme. Draco was staring at Snape. Straight at him. His angry, cold blue eyes boring into his own, impassive black ones. "Mr. Malfoy. . .?" The question hung in the air, like fog over a Yorkshire moor. Draco's scowled more deeply. When he spoke, his voice was bitter, cold, biting, reminding Snape again of his father, painfully so. "How do you do it? On and off, like a tap. How? Don't you even know how I feel. . .?" Draco hissed. Snape almost panicked there and then. What the hell was Draco playing at?! This was a first class way of destroying all of Snape's hard work, keeping their 'relationship' concealed. What did the fool want?! He arched an eyebrow, cynically, almost sarcastically. "On all accounts, you seem to be angry. Although why this should matter to me, I am still unclear upon." He spoke coolly, silkily, but in a voice that was most definitely dangerous. He addressed the rest of the corridor. "Would someone kindly assist Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing and alert Professor Dumbledore? Thank you." Sympathetic, understanding hands reached out to escort Draco away. Snape, satisfied that his work was done, turned to leave. His heart was pounding. So close! He was in trouble now, for sure. . . He heard struggling behind him. He ignored it, but quickened his pace. Nearly at the end of the corridor, he reassured himself. He felt weak. There was the sound of someone hitting the ground behind him. Snape didn't even falter. If anything, he increased his pace again. He would have run, if his dignity had allowed it. Another shout rang out, silencing the corridor more effectively than any way Snape could think of. It was not, however, something he would ever contemplate using to silence a class. Ever. "I LOVE YOU!" A demented scream, echoing off the high walls. Snape stopped short mid-step, nearly over balancing in his shock and horror. He WHAT?!! He hadn't heard that. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, everything would be back to normal. Everything. Every last detail. He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. It had been worth a try. Slowly, and unsteadily, Snape turned to face Draco. He was standing, his robes askew from his scuffle; a Ravenclaw student was sitting up on from the floor, staring around dazedly. "Excuse me?" asked Snape. No words could possibly describe what he felt. His life was officially over. He couldn't teach here any more. It would be proved, and he would be thrown out, exiled, outcast. He was reminded of Dillemand. At least Dillemand had had Mercer, thought Snape bitterly. This is my ruin. This is the end. I should have let him die. "I love you," answered Draco, in a hate filled voice that sounded less like love than anything Snape had ever heard. Well, almost. There was a clear pathway through the corridor from Draco down to Snape. Snape watched in horrified fascination, as Draco moved closer, his footsteps echoing hollowly, sentencing Snape's doom. Snap out of it! he screamed at himself. Out, out! "Mr. Malfoy. . ." he started, at a total loss of what to say. Draco stopped walking. He was in easy reach of Snape now, which made the man himself acutely uncomfortable. This was not looking good. The crowd moved in, filling the space Draco had left. Draco could not move back now, even he had wanted to. He looked lost, but still fired by rage; his pale face was unusually flushed, his eyes narrowed, eyebrows drawn. Like a silver dragon, thought Snape, surprising himself once more with his poeticises. "What's wrong? Why don't you like me any more?" persisted Draco, his confusion showing through more clearly now to the listeners. Snape radiated ignorance, confusion and worry all at the same time. As far as any onlookers could see, he knew as little as they. I should have chosen a career in acting, thought Snape wryly. He shuddered momentarily at the thought of what his parents would have said. He dismissed the thought with many others. He was a disgrace to them as it was, and had been from the age of 15. "I liked you in the first place?" asked Snape, looking politely puzzled. The confusion and ephemeral insecurity Draco had shown dried up quicker than a puddle on a hot day. He started advancing on Snape again, slowly, deliberately, each step like a well aimed punch at Snape's face. He was careful not to flinch, or back away. "You smug, arrogant, stuck up, haughty, supercilious, dried up, ugly old GIT," menaced Draco, his tone getting louder and louder, each word accompanied by a footstep, the last brought Draco to a halt, barely a metre away from his teacher's surprised face. Snape's surprise lowered into a frown and then a deep glare of mistrust and distaste. "That's quite enough of the histrionics thank you, Mr. Malfoy," he said in a voice that would have chilled a salamander into an early death if one had been near. Draco snapped. Snarling at Snape, he took one last step, and, with all his strength, flung Snape round and up against the wall of the corridor, scattering his fellow students everywhere. Some of the girls screamed, accompanied by a collective gasp of horror. What would Snape do in reply to that?! Snapes face contorted into a mask of sheer hatred, the papers he had held all this time dropping, scattering everywhere, landing, and symbolising the utter chaos of the situation almost perfectly. NOBODY manhandled Severus Snape. Not without his consent. Not any more. Easily, Snape pushed Draco from him, sending him staggering backwards. He was vaguely aware of the wide eyed students that surrounded him, whispering frantically. "You've gone too far this time, Mr. Malfoy. You. Don't. Touch. Me. Ever," Snape hissed venomously, in a voice usually reserved for the likes of Potter. Draco, glared, but said nothing. He knew he had gone too far, but wasn't about to admit it. Ever. Snape drew his wand, causing Draco to cower slightly. Snape gave him a withering look, and, with a single wave, rounded up his papers. Bang on time, Dumbledore appeared struggling through the crowd, McGonagall following closely. Dumbledore stared briefly at the scene before shooting Snape a questioning look. Snape's eyes flicked ever so slightly towards Draco, who stood, defensively, to one side. Dumbledore saw and replied with an equally barely distinguishable nod. Snape nodded likewise, and took his leave form the shocked passageway making his way down to the dungeons.  
  
Minerva watched the silent exchange in bemusement. What on earth. . .?  
  
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Draco, come with me to my office. Someone help Kevin," he signalled towards the fallen Ravenclaw, "to the Hospital wing. The rest of you, go to where ever you should be. Thank you," he said gravely, and led the distraught Draco away. The hall burst into loud conversation.  
  
Snape sat down in his dungeons, alone. He felt as if he could cry. But he wouldn't. Crying was not a habit of his. Instead, he pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. Dipping the quill in the inkwell, he started, Dear Professor Dumbledore . . .  
  
He wasn't going to let himself be fired. Not now. Not ever. 


	26. We Shall See

Chapter 26  
  
*Alysun thwacks Naomi, the wonderful proof reader, over the head and tells her that she will be praised whether she likes it or not*  
  
* G *  
  
Thanks to all reviews and reviewers, esp. Ruby Rose Edward, Avalon Princess, Pervert Bitch, Ambrosius and Silver Fox! And Clara! Alysun.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I thought I was going to stop doing these? Hmmm. . .  
  
We Shall See.  
  
What was going on in Draco's mind?! questioned Dumbledore himself, furiously, as he led the distracted boy up to his office in the tower. Severus had dealt with it well, but there was not much that could be done to quell the rumours now. The rumours would reach Fudge, and then not only Severus and Draco would be in trouble, but he himself would be disgraced for not telling. The sharp click of Minerva's shoes on the floor told Dumbledore that she was following them, wanting to know more. There was no time. There was very little that could be done to save Severus. They reached the gargoyle. Dumbledore led them up the winding staircase, and into his office. He sat himself down, and signalled Draco into a chair. Minerva stood in front of the closed doorway, arms crossed. "Now, then Draco. What was all that about?" Dumbledore started genially. Draco shrugged, his eyes fixed on his feet. Dumbledore kicked himself mentally. Of course! Draco didn't know he knew! And he wouldn't say anything in front of Minerva anyway. "Minerva, would you be so good as to go and fetch Severus? Come back up here with him in twenty minutes or so, if you will.," he said. She nodded curtly and took her leave, casting him a curious look as she closed the door. He now directed his attention solely on Draco's bent head. He said nothing for a minute or two, contemplating the questions he could ask, and the answers he might get. This was going to be hard. "I know about you and Professor Snape, Draco, " he said finally, gently, quietly. Draco's head snapped up in alarm for an instant, and then dropped again. "Oh, " he said, nonchalantly. Dumbledore sighed. "Look, there is nothing I can do for this without your co-operation, Draco. I need you to tell me everything. We only have fifteen minutes or so!" Draco rocked in his chair quietly, and then started in a low voice, "I love him. But he doesn't love me. Why? Why not. . ." he trailed off. A tear fell, and Draco hastened to wipe it away. "Do you really, Draco? He's at least twice your age, you know. There are lots of others out there, more suiting. . ." Draco shook his head. Conversation drew to a halt. What did Severus think of Draco? He wouldn't be impressed by his sudden outburst, that's for sure. Why had Severus let this happen? Something wasn't fitting into place. It was like a piece of a jigsaw that was in the wrong box; it looked right on the face of it, but it didn't fit. No, no, no, no, no! Thought Dumbledore in frustration. Severus doesn't do things like this! It's all wrong! It's not his style! "What about your father, Draco?" asked Dumbledore. Draco shrugged again. "What about him? He's gone." Oh, lord! exclaimed Dumbledore silently. This was Not Good. "Your mother? How is she coping?" Conversation was an uphill struggle. "Nervous breakdown," said Draco, monotonously. Dumbledore felt that nothing could go right. A headache made its entrance.  
  
"Draco, this isn't good. You know that as well as I do. I can't let anything happen between you and Professor Snape, it's not legal! You mustn't cut yourself up about this! You must remember, that Severus is an exceptional liar. There's no really way of knowing what he's thinking. Forget him. Please, Draco, " implored Dumbledore at last. Time was running out. "But I can't. . .I know he lies. . .but when? When does he lie?" whispered Draco. "When he sees fit," sighed Dumbledore. He suffered that too. "It'll be better soon, I assure you, Draco, " he finished, sensing that Minerva was soon to arrive with Severus. Draco started slightly and looked up. What the. . .? thought Dumbledore in surprise. Draco was staring at him as though he wasn't human. Then he shook his head, and looked down again. "Sorry," he murmured, "something else. . ." Before Dumbledore could ask, there was a brisk knock on the door. Minerva. "Come in, " called Dumbledore, and the door opened. Minerva entered, and moved to stand inconspicuously against the wall of the round room. Snape glided in, his face impassive as he viewed the scene. "Ah, Severus. Minerva, if you would leave us for a while. . .?" MacGonagoll nodded, her annoyance showing only in the quickness of her step as she left the room. Severus stood indifferently behind Draco's chair, slightly to the right, not looking at the boy, but concentrating his gaze on Dumbledore. This was it, thought Dumbledore. At the end of this. . .there will either be no more, or a huge scandal. Or both. "So," he began. "You should both know why you're here. . ." without realising it, he had fallen into the familiar role of the severe headmaster telling off naughty students. "The question is, what next? Draco, your behaviour was totally inappropriate. It can't happen again, understand?" Draco nodded mutely. "And you, Severus, should have known better in the first place. But I will let it pass, for now," Severus raised his eyebrows. Dumbledore wondered why. "Indeed," said Severus quietly. Draco flinched. "As you said before, what now?" Dumbledore shrugged in a gesture of ignorance. He had no idea. "I think it's maybe best if you and Draco discuss that amongst yourselves. I'll leave you here to think about it for, an hour? Yes, an hour will be enough. . ." Dumbledore stood from his chair and left the room, closing the door behind him. As an afterthought, he locked them in. What would happen next? We shall see, thought Dumbledore. We shall see. 


	27. No. . .

Chapter 27  
  
YAY! for Blonde Ditz! She helped me with the ideas for this chapter. . .YAY! also for Naomi, who helped smooth out some serious faults in the plot. . .and for proof reading, as ever  
  
Thanks to reviewers! Esp. Ruby Rose, Avalon Princess, Clara, and, of course, Pervert Bitch! Alysun  
  
DISCLAIMER: Yeah, I know. . .but I don't wanna get sued! * G * Everything belongs to Ms Rowling (Mrs., even), except MY plot. . .Mwuhahahahaha. . .  
  
No. . .  
  
Draco sat in a chair in Dumbledore's office, watching Snape's back. He was standing, staring out of the window. Neither had said anything since Dumbledore had left, each in the seclusion of their minds. Draco wondered what Snape was thinking. Did he have feelings for him or not? Was he just a foolish boy or a mistake in his eyes, or what? Everything seemed to be moving so fast around him. . .so fast. . .no time. . . half the time Draco felt that he wasn't there, just watching it through a window in his mind. It was all so . . .different. . . than it used to be. . . He was sorry. Sorry for everything. . . he had been such an idiot. . .why had he done it? He didn't really think that it would make it better? Fool that I am. . . "I'm sorry," he said, for what good that it was worth. It had been the first time he had spoken spontaneously in days. Not that it mattered. Snape would never forgive him for this. . . he had ruined everything. . . "I know you are," answered Snape, quietly, "and it's all my fault. I shouldn't have led you on like that. . .but then. . .you're so much like. . .you're so young. . ." Draco was surprised. Maybe. . .? For some reason that Draco couldn't explain, he thought of his father's letter, the one that Snape had given to him. . all those months ago. . .what had he said? "one truly wonderful teacher of mine". . . yes, that had been it. Draco never did work out what the "of mine" had meant. It didn't matter, he supposed. Snape stood in front of him, a tall figure wrapped in dark. . .ness. Dark material, and darkness. His hair fell in front of his face and his eyes glazed over slightly, as Draco watched. He was speaking, although quietly, Draco realised. The more he listened, the clearer it became that he was merely thinking out loud. ". . .and then there's Narcissa. . . what does she want? The letter. . . I can't believe he sent that letter. . . then she killed him? No. . .he didn't send that letter. . .she did. . . She must have. Why didn't I see it before? Fool. . . now what? I still have it somewhere. . .I'll burn it. . . fool that I am. . . burn it. . . she must have found out. . .how? Does it matter? . . .she became jealous. . .oh, I see it all now. . . .damn her! She killed him. . . and Lucius. . knew? Why didn't he stop it from happening then, if he knew? Did she write that, too? . . .no. . . she couldn't have known . . . " Snape flinched at something Draco couldn't see. What one earth was the man rambling on about? His mother? It almost sounded like she and his father had plotted to kill someone. . . or his mother had killed someone, and his father knew, but didn't stop her? Ludicrous! He said nothing, wanting to know more. " . . .He wrote that last letter. . .he knew she was. . .then why. . . why didn't he. . .? Oh, fool. . ." Snape stopped again. Draco watched his teacher's back. He was a refined man, tall and stately, Draco decided on the spur of the moment. Snape was leaning on the windowsill, his head bowed so his long hair covered his face. . .his hands gripped the cold stonework of the windowsill as he stood, hunched over. What time was it? How long did they have left? "Professor?" he asked tentatively. "Hmm?" replied Snape, distractedly. ". . . er . . ." "Oh, sorry. . .miles away. . ." Snape sighed, and turned around to face Draco. He looked old, haggard. ". . .so what next?" questioned Draco. Snape looked away. "Who knows? It doesn't matter too much anyway, not with her plan. . ." Draco stared. "Whose plan?" Snape looked at him. He sighed again. "No matter. All I'll say, is that if she has it her way, I'll end up in Azakaban. . ." he shuddered. Draco looked at the Potions Master in alarm. "What do you mean?! You've done nothing wro. . ." he stopped short. He was hardly in a position to tell Snape that he hadn't done anything wrong. Snape gave a humourless half smile. "So? What does it matter, with the right evidence. Or at least the wrong evidence. . .How many innocents have ended up in Azakaban? And who will they believe? Me or. . ." he gave an eloquent wave of the hand, "her?" "Who is this 'her' you keep on about?" asked Draco, in frustration. Snape looked at him again. He seemed to battle within himself, before finally telling him. "'She' is your mother." Draco stared. So he had been talking about his mother earlier. . .what on earth was it all about? ". . .but. . . mother. . ." he stuttered. His mother?! "She likes you!" Snape smiled grimly. "Au contraire. She couldn't hate me more. She's just very good at hiding it. . ." "But why?" burst out Draco. Snape shook his head. "You don't want to know. Though, doubtless, you shall find out soon, if she succeeds. . ." Draco couldn't stop himself from staring in disbelief. What did he mean? Why was he talking about his mother and father a minute ago? What became clear to him? Who had she killed? "Won't you just tell me? Please?" he asked, pleadingly, almost. For the first time in days, he felt alive again, not just watching the world pass through a window. . . alive but frustrated. WHAT did he mean?! Snape checked his watch. "Dumbledore will be back in five minutes or so. We still haven't decided anything," he said, changing the subject totally. Draco shrugged. "What do you want to happen?" he asked. "You say you. . ." Snape paused, "love. . ." he said it as though it was a word with which he was not well aquatinted with, "me?" Draco blushed and hung his head slightly. Reading this action correctly, Snape said, "Ah. This is unfortunate," causing Draco much mental unbalance. What did he mean? Why could he not just say things clearly?! "What do you mean? Do you love me?" he asked, taking his life in his hands.  
  
His heart was beating fast. What if he said no? Then he would look even more of a fool. . .he shouldn't have asked. . . he would say no. . .  
  
But what if he said yes. . . ?  
  
As it was, Snape said nothing, but closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in thought. Draco watched him. His lips parted briefly, uttering a word that Draco could barely make out. . . although it sounded like. . .Lucius?! Snape opened his eyes, but didn't look at Draco; he stared at a vacant point on the wall opposite. The door opened, and Dumbledore came in. He looked at the two, Snape standing in front of the window, blocking the light, Draco sitting staring at him. "Have you sorted things out yet?" asked Dumbledore. Draco didn't answer. Something had just struck him. "Did She. . . kill . . .my father?" he asked Snape jerkily. Snape nodded briefly. Draco went numb.  
  
No. . . 


	28. Everything

Chapter 28  
  
Thanks Ambrosius, Two of Hearts (finish your fic! Grrr. . .!!), Ruby Rose (I now officially LOVE you for your last review!!), Clara. . .and the rest! Please R/R again! Lol! Alysun. Thanks, Naomi. . .* g *  
  
DISCLAIMER: Hello, all you evil copy right fiends! I DO NOT own the Harry Potter characters etc, but I do own the plot. . . .  
  
Everything  
  
Snape saw Draco start to fall, and leapt to stop him. Catching him in his arms, he made a conscious effort not to look at Dumbledore, knowing what the man would think. It was NOT like that. . .  
  
Not at all.  
  
"Is he alright?" Dumbledore was asking. "Fainted," answered Snape, dazedly. He had told Draco. . .damn! Why had he told him?! Why?" Dumbledore asked. Snape stood up straight, leaning the unconscious Draco on the chair. "I'm sure I don't know. We'd better get him down to the hospital wing," he said, showing no emotions. He saw Dumbledore's slightly amused look from the corner of his eye. Old fool. "Shall I take him, or. . .?" asked Snape, not sure of the appropriate thing to do. "We'll both go," said Dumbledore practically, "but wait for him to wake up, first," Snape nodded. There was an uneasy pause. Snape didn't know what to expect from Dumbledore now. Dumbledore said after a while, "Narcissa said that she is ready to answer the Ministries questions about Lucius's death, at last." If he was trying to cheer Snape up, he was going the wrong way about it. Snape paled. So soon! Everything was moving so quickly! He would have to tell someone. . . but wouldn't that look like him trying to frame Narcissa. . .? Gods, this was so complicated! "Severus, what's the matter?" inquired the concerned voice of Dumbledore, momentarily bringing Snape out of his personal hell. Should he tell? His mind screamed logic, tell him, tell him, TELL HIM. . . but. . but. . but then they would find out about Lucius. . . then what would Dumbledore think of him? Snape shuddered involuntarily. He was doomed whatever way he looked at it. "I. . ." he started, but was cut off by a moan from Draco. Both men were at his side immediately. "Draco?" asked Dumbledore gently. "Draco, are you alright?" Well, no. . . Severus snarled silently. He fainted because he was perfectly alright. Draco stirred, and opened his eyes to see both Snape and Dumbledore standing over him. His eyes widened. "You!" he gasped at Snape. Snape raised an eyebrow. "Liar! She didn't. . .she didn't, she didn't, she couldn't " the boy repeated, over and over. . . Snape turned away, knowing that Draco had sealed his doom. When Narcissa presented her case to the court, this would come up, and it would sound like he had been trying to set Draco against his own mother. . . And that, along side all the other bits of his past history would just about do it for him. A few of Narcissa's well-worded lies would do the rest. He could feel Dumbledore's eyes boring into him. He may as well tell him. . . tell him everything. He felt hollow. So much pent up emotion, all finally relieved by his decision. Relief washed over him, calming his mind, soothing his troubled thoughts. So, Dumbledore would never look at him the same way again. He would just have to cope. There was nothing else he could do. He turned to face Dumbledore. "I will have to tell you. Everything," he said, calmly, composedly. Dumbledore looked surprised and as relieved as Snape felt. "You will?" "Yes," he answered, and turned his attention to Draco, who was staring at him in unflattering disbelief. "All I can do is apologise. . . but. . . you will understand, soon. You won't like it, but you will understand. I am sorry," said Snape. That cost him a lot. He never apologised to anyone. . . "You'd better go down to the hospital wing, Draco. Don't go back to lessons today," said Dumbledore. Draco nodded, still staring at Snape. Slowly he got to his feet, and unsteadily made his way to the door. He disappeared through the doorway, and Dumbledore turned to Snape. "Everything?" "Everything." 


	29. Nothing Made SENSE!

Chapter 29  
  
Oh, you're all being lovely, lovely people and reviewing! YAY! Thanks again to. . . Ambrosius, Pervert Bitch, Ruby Rose Edwards, Dianne (I know you're out there. . .*g*). . . and the rest of you! (sorry, brain has officially died. . . ) And thanks to Naomi, for proof reading and being nice! (I have reasons for that compliment, don't delete!) Alysun (minus brain).  
  
Nothing Made SENSE!  
  
Draco had woken to see the anxious faces of Snape and Dumbledore looking down at him. Like mother hens, he thought giddily. He felt light headed and sick. His mother had killed his father? Ridiculous! His mother had no reason to kill his father! Snape was just. . .was just. . . he was just. . . making it up! Yeah, that was it, Snape was making it up. Absolutely. No doubt.  
  
Why?  
  
He had made his way to the hospital wing distractedly, considering this. His mother must. . . no, MIGHT have killed his father, otherwise why would say she had? He had nothing to gain from her being. . .sent down. Draco shivered at the thought. He was now in the sick bay, sitting in the big, blue, incredibly battered (but why? It was only ever used by sick people.) armchair, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to return with something or other that she had set out for. He thought back to the dream he had had. . . It was more of a vision, he supposed, since he had been unconscious, not asleep, but still. . .  
  
He had been staring into a high mirror, looking at the image of himself. He looked downcast, depressed. . . As he watched, his face started to change, the cheekbones a little higher, the face narrower, ageing, the hair sliding itself from one position to another before settling. . . he now stared into the platinum grey eyes of his father. His fathers face had none of the worry that his had had before, but seemed light hearted, cheerful, alive. . . The hair changed again, falling down lengthening, unfolding, and darkening, from silver blonde to grey to black . . . till it grew to a jaw length, jet black curtain around the morphing face. The nose grew, the liquid mercury colour of the eyes deteriorated into blackness, blocked by a mental wall of anti-emotion. The pure white of his fathers skin turned, melting into Snapes more sallow complexion, leaving the image of the despondent Potions master complete. The image of Snape stared deep into the midst of Draco's mind, seemingly, reading him, seeing his every thought, before looking away.  
  
Then he had come round. What had it meant? Why had it happened? What did it mean? Draco's brow furrowed in frustration. Unless there was some connection between his father and Snape? They had been friends, yes, but why did that happen? Was there something else he wasn't seeing here? He slammed his hand down onto the well-worn arm of the chair, sending a small cloud of dust up into the air. It wasn't FAIR!!! He didn't understand! What did it all MEAN?  
  
Nothing made SENSE! 


	30. I Love Him!

Chapter 30  
  
Ok, Hermione, if you're going to flame, at least be a) constructive, and b) accurate. It's not an R? Have you actually read Chapter 4? And you're saying that that's not R?! Christ! Anyway, that's my little ranting session. . . Thanks to Blonde Ditz, aka Clara (Everyone go and read "Dreams Can Come True"!) And Naomi (back? Now go and read "Fresh Air", and sequel!! YAY!)  
  
Thanks to reviewers. . .Ruby Rose Edwards (no stress, I like your reviews!), Pervert Bitch, Gillian, Blonde Ditz, EVERYONE!! I am so glad to be back from my Aunt's! Alysun, not quite believing that she's written 48 pages, 30 chapters. . .  
  
  
  
I Love Him  
  
Dumbledore felt so incredibly, wonderfully, gloriously . .free?. . . now Severus said that he would tell him everything. . . If only he hadn't done so before! He tingled with anticipation; he was not naturally a gossip, or indeed, overly concerned about other people's business, but Severus! Severus of whom he knew nothing! After he had sent Draco down to the hospital wing (feeling slightly guilty for making him go alone) he sat down heavily in his chair, and watched Severus as he sat opposite. He seemed almost worryingly calm. As ever, he showed no emotion; a particular talent of his that caused Dumbledore much speculation. He had never met someone whose mind, intentions and thoughts he couldn't read with unerring accuracy before he met Snape. It was almost uncanny. His long face was set, determined to tell his story, but unsure how to begin. Dumbledore suspected that he would be the first and probably the last to hear it. "Now, then," started Dumbledore, to get Snape started. "You say you'll tell me everything?" Snape nodded slowly. "Everything," he said, staring somewhere to the left of Dumbledore's head.  
  
He paused. Where does one start?  
  
Snape sighed, and dragged his eyes back to Dumbledore's waiting face. "In your own time, Severus," he said, supportively. Snape gave a thin lipped smile, offering no humour. He started. "Everything. . .the beginning is hard to place, but I would imagine it to be when I was fifteen. . ." he spoke as though reading off an inner screen, an analytical essay of his life. Dumbledore watched, fascinated. This was a side of Severus he had never imagined. It was clear it was things that had tortured him, but had never found the time or situation to put it to words. . . "I found out that I was gay. At first, I didn't believe it, thinking myself to be delusional. . . I quickly realised that I was not, and that I was truly. . .homosexual," he spat the word like poison, "It was mad. . . I had a crush on Lucius, my best friend for heavens sake. . . he had no idea. I learnt to hide my feelings there and then, not wanting to lose my friends and respectability," another word that he doesn't like, mused Dumbledore as he watched Snape's upper lip curl into a distasteful snarl. "I kept it to myself. . .until I got to know Madeline . . ." It clicked. Madeline! The only girlfriend Severus had ever had! So that was her name, thought Dumbledore, remembering her at last. "She was. . .nice. I suppose. Nice eyes, I seem to remember. She eventually found out what I was and gave me advice. . . she told me about Mike. . . my first boyfriend," Snape gave an amused, twisted smile at the term, before continuing, "Of course, I made the fool mistake of inviting home over the summer. I hadn't told my parents; I knew, even then, what their reaction would be. . . But they found out. . . walked in on us. . .Mike had been sent home, immediately, and I. . ." Snape closed his eyes on the memory. He could see his mother's horrified face, hear his father's damning sentences even now. . . "I experienced with the Cruciatus Curse what felt like a thousand times. Threatened, bullied, degraded by my father, screamed at by my mother, beaten, cursed, hexed till kingdom come. I could barely walk by the end of it. But still, I denied nothing, stubborn fool that I was. And am. So my parents laid down the law. I was to bring no-one to the house, male or female, tell no-one of my sexuality, and do nothing that suggested that I was of that genre . . . and then I was disinherited, cast out of the family. I was allowed to keep the name, stay until the end of my years at Hogwarts, but was told that of that moment onwards I had no parents, and they had no son. The part of the estate that was to be left to me was bought off me - at a handsome sum, but nowhere near as much as it was worth. It destroyed me. If it hadn't played to the life my parents had written out for me, I would have killed myself there and then. But I didn't. They banned me from telling anyone of this 'agreement'. So I threw myself into school work. What did I have left? Potions and the Dark Arts became my fortes. . .and have remained so. I became fascinated by the ancient dark wizards. When I left here, I did some deep research into the subject, finding out more than you could ever imagine. . . and so with the Dark Lord, I was intrigued, and joined the Death Eaters." Had he shuddered when he said Death Eaters? Dumbledore wondered. He said nothing, and kept listening, transfixed, absorbed in Snape's life. ". . .Nothing happened then until one of the earliest Death Eater meetings. . .I was standing in the circle, watching, watching my fellows, wondering on their identities. To my surprise, I found Lucius. . .we had lost touch when we left Hogwarts; I hadn't told him that my parents had thrown me out. Any letter he may have sent would have been burned, I imagine." Snape stopped. The glazed, inward look that he had acquired whilst talking had not moved from his face. He looked tormented, as though what he was going to say next would cost him his life.  
  
It could, easily, but Dumbledore didn't know that. Yet.  
  
He opened his mouth to take up his narrative again, but stopped, and looked down. He was frowning at himself, arguing with his sense, his reason. This wasn't right! Why should Dumbledore want to know? . . .but he had said everything. He sighed and stared out of the window at the cheerful blue sky, hating it for being so. He became aware of Dumbledore's innocent expectancy. He couldn't bare this! He stood up, and went over to the window, to avoid Dumbledore's laser glare. Snape didn't think he could stand to see Dumbledore's face when he realised what he was telling him. He tried again. Dumbledore watched Severus stand, and wondered fleetingly whether he was going to leave. He watched as he drifted to the window and stared out. What was he thinking? What was going through his mind? Snape started talking again, adapting the distant voice of one talking out loud to themselves. "I stopped Lucius in the corridor. . .after the meeting broke up. . .we went back to the Manor and talked late into the night. . . I ended up staying over there," he drew to a halt, unsure what to say next, unsure of how to phrase the events of that night. He could see it so clearly. . . but to put it into words?! "And?" coaxed Dumbledore, dreading the answer. . .Lucius and Severus? And then Draco?! Surely not. . .not Severus. . . Snape cleared his throat nervously. "And Lucius visited me in the middle of the night. . . don't know how he got passed Narcissa, but he managed it. . . and he. . .he. . ." Snape hung his head. No going back now. "He kissed me. He offered me the night, and I took it." Dumbledore became slightly confused. ". . .offered you the night?" he asked. Snape flinched. "Asked me to fuck him. And I did, with undue amounts of pleasure. Clear enough?" he snapped irritably. He didn't WANT to do this. . . "Thank you," answered Dumbledore, taking the bad temper in his stride. He didn't know how hard this was for Severus, but took a shrewd guess. Snape took a deep breath before continuing. "And so, we started a long term relationship. Sometimes, he would come over to the school, sometimes I would go to the Manor. No-one ever found us." Was there a trace of smugness there? Dumbledore didn't know. His head was close to spinning. Severus and Lucius? This meant that. . .oh, lord. . . Every brain cell in his head was stretched, agonising, trying to comprehend what had been said. ". . . for how long. . .?" he asked weakly. This was not happening! Right under his nose, and he had noticed nothing! Nothing at all! If Fudge ever got hold of this. . . "From that night? About. . . fifteen, maybe sixteen years. We only stopped seeing each other because of Draco. . ." " Sixteen years?" "Sixteen years," confirmed Snape, still not turned from the window, though his tone now sharper, clearer, than before. Sixteen years, and he had never noticed a thing!! Dumbledore felt ill at the very thought. "What next?" he asked, apprehension filling him at the thought of the possible answers. Snape shook his head. "Not next. Something else happened then. . . with the Dark Lord," he said quietly. He had said everything. He had meant everything. Without meaning to, Dumbledore gave a sharp withdrawal of breath. He was going to tell him! "Voldemort?" he asked. "Mmmm," replied Snape. There was a long, awkward pause that both seemed reluctant to brake. Eventually Dumbledore steeled himself, and asked. ". . .what. . .?" Snape hung his head. " It was after one of the Death Eater meets," his voice so low that Dumbledore had to strain to hear, "I noticed that the Dark Lord had been taking particular notice in me, but never. . ." his voice broke. He couldn't do this! Shame washed over him, followed by memories, ripping his sanity to pieces. "Severus?" asked Dumbledore gently. Snape shook his head. He still hadn't turned, but could imagine the face that Dumbledore would be wearing; kind and concerned. He couldn't deal with sensitivity from anyone at that moment. It was killing him . . . "He raped me," he said harshly, more harsh then he had intended, but not caring. He didn't give a damn what Dumbledore would think. There was no gasp of horror from Dumbledore, no mark of surprise, Severus noted. That either meant he had guessed, or had heard rumours. Rumours from where and from whom, Severus didn't know. He didn't care. Really, he didn't. If he gripped the window sill much harder he'd leave permanent grooves in the stone, but he didn't care. Not at all. He moved on, not wanting to linger on the subject. "I never told Lucius, but he found out, unsurprisingly. As you now know, Lucius was a Death Eater also. When I turned spy, we made a deal. I wouldn't rat on him, and he wouldn't rat on me. We helped each other. . . and no-one from either side found out about the arrangement. When the Dark Lord's power finally broke, I covered for him them, too. " Snape paused again. He was still thinking of the Dark Lord. . .he wanted to tell someone about it, get it out of his head, but couldn't get the right words. Words had never been some thing he had been good at. He had been pretty much monosyllabic as a child, and though he had grown better at the art of conversation, had never mastered Small Talk or Heart to Heart Talks. . . he had never needed to. Until now. "We split up a couple of years before Draco came to Hogwarts; when he was eleven. It wasn't safe any more. . .he wrote twice, I wrote once. . . and that's where Narcissa finds out and murders Lucius. . ." Snapes lucid, clear tone drifted into a wistful lament. "What?" exclaimed Dumbledore. He had not expected that. "Narcissa murdered Lucius. . .because of me. . ." Snape whispered. Dumbledore stared. What the. . .? Ridiculous! She wouldn't have murdered her own husband, surely. . ? Dumbledore did a brief run down on all the things he knew about Narcissa. Not much. . . Snape sighed. "You don't believe me, do you? I didn't think you would. . ." ". . .I. . . not as. . . look, Severus, explain yourself," instructed Dumbledore, through his confusion. Snape hung his head. "Sorry. . .I'm working on assumptions, mainly. But. . .listen. A couple of years ago, I received a letter from Lucius. . .which I replied to. He wrote back to me, and that was it. Earlier this year, I got another letter. . .apparently from Lucius. It was contradictory. . . Very contradictory, of his prior letters. . . he claimed that he wanted to go straight with Narcissa. . .something that I know would never happen with Lucius. . .never, ever. . ." He broke off again, before continuing, "I got another letter the night Lucius was murdered. Why? I was no longer seen as an important figure in Lucius's life, so why should anyone want to send be something like that to me? Stupid! It was signed from Narcissa. . .she had sent it. It combusted, much in the same way as howlers do. There is no evidence of my ever receiving the letter. Then, at the funeral, Lucius left me two books. . .each with reasons of their own, explaining what had happened. . . He must have known, or at least suspected that Narcissa knew about us. The first of these books was Clarkes Notes. Its clue was cryptic to say the least; I eventually deciphered it to involve Clarkes life. I searched through the library to find out about him, successfully. He had been murdered by his wife. The second book was Dillemand of Atlantis; not too hard to understand, if you're familiar with the plot," He finally turned from the window to look at Dumbledore. The emotions he had shown earlier had vanished from his face; the cold anti- emotion barriers were back up in his eyes. He was, once again, unreadable. His greasy black hair framed his face, his black eyes glinting icily from behind the strands that fell stray in front of them. He stood tall, radiating defiance, defiance to the point of anger. There was an aura surrounded him, making him unapproachable, as untouchable as he had ever been. Dumbledore looked back up at him from his chair. His unassuming gaze was met by Snape's cold glare. Dumbledore chose to say nothing, to let Severus's rage diminish. After a while, Severus sighed, and returned to his chair. "Sorry," he said, quietly. Two apologies in one day, Dumbledore marvelled. Severus has feelings! This was a revelation. "So Narcissa murdered Lucius because she found out about your relationship with her husband? Is that what you're saying? I that case, why? Why did she not kill you instead?" Severus nodded, approvingly. Dumbledore's logic was, indeed, infallible. But there was a definite answer. . . "For three reasons. One, she knew that Lucius would always have 'feelings' for me, what ever she did, two, she couldn't get at me as easily here as she could Lucius at home, and three, she was homophobic, and hated Lucius for being gay. Oh, and four, this way, she gets to see me get sent to Azakaban and watch me rot in hell." He said the last point quite casually, Dumbledore noticed, but there was a sinister undertone. Then again there always was with Severus. He nodded. He believed him. Problem was, no-one else would. And Narcissa had told Fudge she had seen Severus there that night. . . oh dear lord. . .this did Not look good. . . One question left. . . "How do you feel about Draco? He does look very like his father. . ." hinted Dumbledore. Snape flinched. Ow! he thought. Tact! "I. . .I don't know. . ." he said uncertainty Dumbledore . . . watched him battle with himself. "Yes, you do. Admit it to yourself Severus," he said quietly. Snape hung his head. "Very well. . .I. . .love him," he said it softly, almost sensitively. In a twisted way, Dumbledore was touched. Severus had spelled himself a life sentence in Azakaban, but had done it with his usual drama. . . Severus's head was spinning.  
  
I love him. . . 


	31. Oh, the Sickness!

Chapter 31.  
  
Thanks all, as ever. . . This has way too many chapters now. . . ! Thanks especially to Clare, not only for being nice and helping me with this fic, but for being truly wonderful to me in general! Thank you, very much!  
  
*note from disgruntled editor: humph*  
  
Hey, Naomi! You're a wonderful person too! But in different ways to Clare. . . And it's not like I've never said nice stuff about you one this, is it? look back a couple of chapters, and you'll see. . . Although, I admit that you have done an awful lot to help me with this, and I would be lost without you. . .* g *  
  
Oh, the Sickness!  
  
Draco woke up. He had been sent back up to his dorm after he had left the hospital wing, and told to keep quiet. Most of the Slytherins were steering well clear of him, due to his rabid outburst earlier that day. Yesterday, even. It was now three o'clock, according to his bedside clock. Draco didn't mind the isolation, for the moment; it gave him time to think without inane questions being shot at him from his companions. He had told Crabbe and Goyle to leave him alone until he told them to come back. They had duly wandered off, looking lost. Well, tough, Draco thought nastily. He felt pretty much lost, too, and he couldn't baby them forever. . . What had woken him, now? . . .oh, yes, the vision. The same as last time, in the hospital wing. His face changing into his father's and then finally into Snape's, which looked away, and then he had woken up. . . What did it mean? He had spent a long time thinking of this whilst his fellow Slytherins were in their classes. He could see no reasoning in it! He changed into his father. . .because he was his father's son, after all. . .this much he had worked out. Simple. Snape though? Why did his father turn into Snape? It had to be something more than just the fact that they had been good friends in the past. . . It would have made more sense to have seen his father turning into him, turning into Snape, what with all that had been going on. . . Where had all this started? It seemed so surreal, disjointed from the real world now. . . He recapped. It had started when he had received the letter telling him about his father's death. He had gone to Snape, who had been uncharacteristically nice and comforted him. He had . . .spent the night with Snape. He got his father's letter from Snape. He had meet up with Snape at the funeral, where he said that they need to talk, before disappearing. They had talked in the classroom, at night, when he had got back to Hogwarts. He had spent more 'time' with Snape. Snape acted as though nothing had happened, making him feel suicidal. Snape had stopped him from actually committing suicide. He had yelled at Snape in a corridor, telling him how he felt. . . (Draco shuddered with embarrassment at the memory. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.) Dumbledore had taken the pair of them up to his office to sort things out. Snape had told Draco that his mother had murdered his father. He hadn't told him whether he loved him or not. He had fainted and had the weird vision. He had just had the weird vision for the second time, proving it to be important. . .  
  
Draco sat up in bed, considering the list. Did Snape love him or not? He had paused on the answer to Draco's direct questioning of this. . . so probably, yes, he did. Draco grinned into the darkness. Was he being too optimistic? Probably. Ah, well, it's a nice dream, he thought. What had started it in the first place? Did Snape fuck everyone who went to him in tears? Not likely. . . there had to be something else. . . like with the vision. . . So what did he have that no-one else did? He smirked at a perverted, fleeting thought, before taking it seriously. So he was attractive, but no more than some of the other Slytherin males. . . Snape had known his father, but what had that got to do with anything? He thought of the vision again, and then his father's letter. . ."of mine". . . it all meant something! WHAT? What did it mean?! He thought of Dillemand, the book his father had left to Snape. . ..why? Why was he thinking of this now? What was he trying to tell himself? Snape had said that it was just his father's way of showing him that he knew that he was gay. . .Snape said? Snape lied. Frowning, Draco thought of him again. He was so unemotional! Or was he? Did he just hide it? He shook his head in frustration. The room was silent save the heavy breathing of Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise in the other beds. So. There was some other connection between Snape and his father. What was it? Snape and his father. . . they had been good friends. They had been Death Eaters together. That was it, wasn't it? Good friends. . .just good friends. . . WHAT?! What was he going ON about? Of course they were just good friends! Of course they were! Of course. . . Oh, shit. . . Surely not. He ran through the facts again. His father had called Snape, "mine," in his letter. In his vision, his father changed into Snape Dillemand of Atlantis. Snape had, quite willingly, slept with him on hearing about Lucius's death. Draco looked so very much like his father. . . OH, SICK! Draco was repulsed. Ewwww! His FATHER and SNAPE! SICK! Oh, The Sickness. . . he shuddered. Feeling physically nauseous, he clambered out of bed, past his curtains and through to the bathroom. He reached it, and pulled the door open. There was one light dimly illuminating the room. He staggered in, and stood in front of the mirror, looking at the ghostly and disgusted image of himself. He was pale, much paler than normal. His hair was tousled, his fair skin clammy. He turned the tap on, and splashed the cold gushing water over his face. He felt a little better, though his head no clearer, his rage still intact. Wiping his face dry, his thoughts turned, irrepressibly, to his father and Snape. It was. . . sick. No other words presented themselves to replace it. Except maybe perverted. Or twisted. Unnatural? Warped? Wanton? SICK, SICK, SICK! He shuddered. The bastard! How dare he?! How dare he use him as a replacement for his father! Draco felt bitter, twisted, used. . . How DARE he?! Oh, the sickness of it. . . what had he been thinking that first time? Just of Lucius? So Snape had no feelings for him after all. . . Draco remembered what he had forgotten previously. He had murmured "Lucius," when Draco had asked him whether he loved him! HE HAD USED HIM!!! SO angry. . . He remembered in the classroom, the second time: "In this letter, he told me to watch over you, look after you. If we carry on like this. . . would I be betraying his last request of me?" And then, after: " You shouldn't care so much! It was right. Father's gone now, he won't know," he whispered. "Won't he? Who says he's not watching us now? There's no guarantee, Draco. It was wrong of us to start this,"  
  
He had wondered then why it had mattered to Snape so much. . . well, now he knew. He was telling Dumbledore. . .he was telling EVERYONE. . .in the morning. . .EVERYONE! And he had the audacity to accuse his mother of murdering his father! His anger reached a point beyond words, as he padded, bare foot, from the bathroom, back to his now-cold bed. Hate for Snape filled every nook, every cranny of his mind, taking him over, the very thought of him making his skin crawl, his blood boil. . . THE EVIL. . .evil, evil, evil. . . words failed him. Nothing could possible describe how he felt. Draco was not unfamiliar with the feeling of dislike; he had had felt it towards Potter ever since that first train journey. But hate. . . It was like nothing else in the world. . . Adrenaline pounded through him, making him clench his fists, longing for Snape to be somewhere near so he could pound the living HELL out of the git. . . what made it worse was the knowledge that before this, he would have done anything for Snape, absolutely anything. . . Draco narrowed his eyes and glowered. He tossed and turned till morning, unable to sleep, mental images of him and Snape, Snape and his father, surging into his minds eyes, revolting him at every turn. He had used him. . . Oh, the sheer sickness of it!  
  
~*~  
  
He must have slept, as he woke late that morning. Looking sleepily at the clock, he realised that he had already missed breakfast and ten minutes of his first lesson. . they hadn't bothered to wake him, obviously. He felt a stab of annoyance. He wasn't infectious, for god's sake. . . He thought back to the previous night as he dressed. The adrenaline had left him now, and he was just left with a dull, thudding hate for Snape, and a hollow empty, weak feeling inside. . . Oh, the sickness. . . 


	32. Late

Chapter 32  
  
Thanks to Ambrosius, Ruby Rose, Clare and the rest! Hey, Bemused /Diana Finn. . .do you have a Hotmail account? If so, list it and I'll send you chapter updates! . . .actually that applies to anyone who wants a chapter updating thing! Hotmail/Yahoo address, please!!!!  
  
Thanks again to the wonderful beta reader. . . whether she likes it or not! * g *  
  
Come on everyone, read and review!!! Lol! Alysun. . .  
  
Late.  
  
Dumbledore had stayed up late that night after Severus had left, pondering what he had said. He trusted him, and believed that all he had told him was true; especially when he said that he loved Draco. Admirable though it had been for him to admit his feelings, it was also highly unfortunate. Dumbledore was now in an extremely awkward situation; what to do? News of Draco's latest 'escapade', so to speak, would almost certainly be in the papers in the morning. Fudge would want to know what was going on, and Minerva would demand answers to more unanswerable questions. Dumbledore wondered what kinds of questions Fudge would ask. Most likely, things such as, "Why didn't you know?", "Why didn't you tell me?", "How long has this been going on for?", "Why hasn't Snape been sacked yet? He's clearly not fit to teach,". . . All of which, while Dumbledore could answer them, it would probably cost him his job to do so truthfully. And then there was the whole thing with Narcissa. He had no doubt now that what Severus had said was true. It fitted far too well to be a string of coincidences, besides which, while Severus was biased, malicious, spiteful and prejudice, he would never lie to get someone sent to Azakaban. . .unless it was Sirius Black. Dumbledore smiled slightly to himself. It had been so easy to sort things out when they had been students at here Hogwarts, under his rule. Now, however, they had a higher judge to contend with, and one that was as narrow minded and money loving as a muggle bank manager, at that. Dumbledore sighed, and looked out of his circular window. Full moon. He wondered how Remus was getting on. . . he had been well last time Dumbledore had seen him. . . He had been another of Severus's nemeses in his school days. He sat meditatively for a while, staring out at the white orb, thoughts wandering pleasantly, not concentrating. . . It was rare, now, that he had a chance to think for as long as he wished. It was very irritating. But now, as he sat, he could see more clearly. . . He could see how Draco felt. Confused - did Severus love him or not? Lost - who could he turn to, talk to? Worried - what would happen when people found out? He could imagine what was working away in the hidden depths of Severus's mind. Anxiousness- what would happen when people found out? Guilt- for using Draco. Hate-for the prejudice he knew he would now be subjected to. Anger- at everyone for this happening. Dumbledore wondered mildly what would happen when Draco found out about Severus and his father. He would, certainly, if his mother persevered with the case against Severus. How would Draco feel then? Angry? Used? Would he hate Severus, or forgive him? Would he still love him? Dumbledore watched lazily as a white owl drifted silently up to the Gryffindor tower. Sirius keeping in touch with Harry, I see, he thought. Everything was so incredibly peaceful, serene. . . it was hard to believe that in the morning all hell would break lose. He had considered writing to the Daily Prophet asking them not to publish a story on Severus and Draco, and then decided against it. If they didn't have the story now, they would if he asked them, and if they did, they wouldn't be stopped just because he didn't want it. He wasn't some sort of official, after all. . . He was dreading the next day. Just as long as Draco kept his head, and Severus was as intimidating and ambiguous as he ever was, them it wouldn't be too bad. . . And then there was Narcissa. She didn't know about this yet. . .Dumbledore felt a little sorry for her; losing her husband and then her only son to an ex-friend, a male ex-friend. Despite this, he didn't let his compassion overlook the fact that she was a homophobic, cold blooded murderess.  
  
  
  
He glanced at the clock on the wall. Late. So late it was early. . .he sighed and retired to bed. 


	33. A Day of Questions

Chapter 33.  
  
* sigh * I gotta finish this soon, its starting to depress me! YAY!!! Loads of people are reviewing me! LOL! Thanks to Ruby Rose Edwards, Blonde Ditz, Pervert Bitch, Crys, Dianne, . . . And the rest of you WHO READ AND DON'T REVIEW!!!! Lol! No stress. . .Alysun PS. Naomi, thank you thank you, would be lost without you. . .  
  
A Day of Questions.  
  
  
  
Snape felt remarkably calm as he walked down to the breakfast table the next morning. He hadn't taught his afternoon classes yesterday, understandably. He didn't like to think of the rumours that would have gone round the school now; he didn't like to think of the looks that the students had given as he passed them on his way down to the breakfast table. So he didn't. It had struck him late last night, just before he went to sleep, that it would probably reach the papers in the morning. He thought of this again now; it would be horrible. The student's rumours would be bad enough. . . but the rest of the wizarding population would hear about this also. . .including his parents. His blood ran cold and unknowingly he deepened his normally angry expression into an incensed frown. As he strode through the corridors on the way to the Great Hall, he watched from the corner of his eye as students turned aside and whispered, stared or moved as far away from him as possible. And the newspaper hasn't even arrived yet, he thought, grimly.  
  
He reached the Hall, and took his place beside Minerva, who gave him a fleeting apprehensive look, caused by his offensive scowl. The first five, ten minutes of the meal passed amiably enough for him, looking as he was, only at his plate. Then came the post. The rushing of wings, and the gentle hoots of owls welcoming their owners filled the cavernous room, followed by the chattering of students and the rustle of paper. Many of the students had the Daily Prophet delivered to them, but until now, Snape had never realised exactly how many. Most of them. Quickly, he returned his gaze to his plate, ignoring the raise in chatter from the pupils. Oh, gods. . .he thought. Today was going to be sheer hell. . . A short tap on his shoulder brought him back to earth. It was Minerva. Wearing her most severe face, she handed him her copy of the days news. . .  
  
Grudgingly, but without comment, he took it, and unfolded it to be welcomed with "LESSONS IN LUST! Hogwarts school teacher, Professor Severus Snape, was. . . "  
  
Raising a disbelieving eyebrow, he skimmed the article, well aware of the hundreds of pairs of eyes that were now staring at him, waiting for a reaction. He caught the general gist of the article very quickly. They thought that he had done 'things' to Draco. Which, while he had, Draco hadn't exactly complained. . . Silently, he re-folded the paper and handed it back to Minerva, who was looking worried to say the least. He did nothing. He picked up his knife and fork and resumed eating, not meeting the eyes of his staring spectators. Inside he was dying. Oh, gods, this was The End of his teaching career. . .and his parents would now do something terrible, doubtlessly. . . he shuddered in the privacy of his mind. Could it get much worse? Don't tempt Fate. . . Slowly, like a panther staking its prey before chasing, catching and killing it, conversations started, mostly on the subject of the newspaper article. Little phrases leapt out at him as he sat. ". . . Is it true?" "Well, duh, yes. . ." ". . . Snape? And Malfoy?!. . . " ". . . Oh, that's sick. . .!" ". . .I'm definitely NOT going to Potions today!" ". . . How could he?!. . . " ". . . I mean, Snape's really ugly!. . ." Their words passed him in a flame of increasing anger. . .what business was it of theirs? His private life was his own. . . Minerva caught his attention again. "Severus, what is going on? Is this true?" she probed. Snape shrugged a reply. She stared. ". . .you're. . .?" He raised an eyebrow. "Human? Yes," he said dryly. She blushed, and moved on. " What's been going on between you and Draco, then?" she persisted. He raised his other eyebrow to join the first. "What makes you think anything happened in the first place?" he said, his tone drier than an autumn leaf. Minerva gave a derisive snort. She ticked a list off on her fingers. "One, the fact that you and Draco were dragged up in front of Albus. Two, that Draco tried to commit suicide. Three, that you stopped him. . ." Snape cut her off, "You would have me leave him to die?" he asked. Minerva pursed her lips in disapproval, one of her favourite mannerisms. "Alright, then, two, that all three of you have been so secretive. Three, all the little looks you and Draco keep on exchanging over the breakfast table. . ." It was Snape's turn to show disgust, though his own mannerism of curling his upper lip. "Really, Minerva, now you're reading between lines that don't even exist!" "Really?" she questioned, her cynicism showing clearly through her Scottish accent. "Really," Snape intoned. "I assure you, nothing has 'happened', as you say, between me and Malfoy." Minerva could say nothing to that, but pursed her lips more and made a slight noise of disbelief. She was missing out on something important and didn't like it one bit. Snape sighed inwardly, knowing that this was what the day held. . . a day of questions. He had forbidden himself to do a search of the Slytherin table for Draco, in fear of encouraging the already outrageous rumours that were sweeping through the room. Everywhere he looked, he could feel eyes from around the room follow his gaze; indeed, his talk with Minerva had been closely followed from many quarters. The teachers' table, Snape, noticed suddenly, was missing its head member; Dumbledore wasn't there. Snape wondered where he had got to. . .Dumbledore was not one to miss out on breakfast, whatever happened. Even as Snape watched, the door from the Entrance Hall was swinging open. But, instead of admitting Dumbledore, as he had expected, a small portly figure, plus vivid red face, entered. Fudge stood in the now silent, watching hall, and scanned the Head table, presumably for Dumbledore. Instead he found Snape. "You're still here?" he spluttered, his eyes bursting with disbelief at Snape's presence. Snape sat back in his chair. "Where should I be, Minister?" he asked, smoothly. There was a mutinous murmur of disagreement that ran through the Hall at this comment. To Snapes hidden surprise, Minerva stopped it with a scowl, and an agreement with Snape's remark. "Nothing has been proven of anything, after all, Minster," she said, prudish as ever. Fudge bristled. "The man has been accused of a Teacher-Pupil Relationship! And I find him here, in a Hall full of Students!" The capital letters dropped neatly into place. Snape was mildly impressed. There weren't many who could pronounce capital letters. "The operative word there, Minister, is accused," retorted Minerva. Snape, in his own twisted way, was beginning to enjoy this. Minerva and Fudge had never got on, especially not after the Dementor escapade two years back. . . The rally of comments was intense now, Fudges face becoming redder and redder with effort, as Minervas lips became thinner and thinner. Not one single insult was exchanged, not one criticism, making it some how worse, and in its own way, funnier. "Just a newspaper rumour," Minerva snapped at Fudge who replied, "There was a corridor full of witnesses to the incident!" "Who saw Draco, in considerable stress, pronounce his love for Severus, proving NOTHING! The boy has been going through a very hard time at the moment. . . " Snape noted how she didn't actually deny that anything had happened. She obviously thought something HAD happened in that case. . . "So turned to Snape, who took advantage of him!" menaced Fudge, now leaning forward in his rage, arms stuck to his sides, fists balled. Snape was careful not to flinch at the horribly accurate statement that Fudge had made. "Do I have a say in this?" he said, his voice more dangerous than a rattlesnake's rattle, his black eyes glinting darkly. Fudge diverted his attention to the direction of the Potions Master. "Hardly! You'll deny it!" The only show of anger Snape made was to flare his nostrils slightly, before replying, "Has it not occurred to you that Mr. Malfoy may have been under the influence of a spell, or drug at the time? Or maybe he has become mentally unhinged by the death of his father. I wouldn't know, not being that close to him," he hissed. Fudge froze. Apparently it had not. Snape's eyes flashed in anger. "Then maybe you should consider your next move more deeply," he said, his tone threatening, though quiet. The room was entirely silent. You could have heard a quill drop. As it was, you heard only Fudge's angry splutter, reaching new heights in anger. "How dare . . . how dare you. . . HOW DARE YOU TELL ME WHAT TO DO?!" he almost screamed at Snape his rage making his face go a rather odd shade of plum. In stark contrast, Snape sat calmly by Minerva, and said, "Minister, I wouldn't dream of telling you what to do, on the contrary, I'd do absolutely anything you told me to. . ." he paused, waiting for Fudge grasp the secondary implications of this. When Fudge finally saw what he *could* have meant, he made a small whimpering sound in the back of his throat, and backed away slightly. Snape allowed himself a smirk. "NOT how you're thinking, however," he injected, trying desperately to get rid of the image of Fudge in a loin cloth. "It was merely a piece of befitting advice to your current situation." Fudge looked terrified, as though Snape was advancing on him with his wand drawn (a/n: damn . . . I can't seem to get these * damn * innuendos out of my fic. . . Well, you're not complaining, are you?). The silence that followed the end of Snape's speech was tense. The students were exchanging worried looks, while Fudge stared out at Snape from his corner. Snape sat, unable to prevent the smirk on his face, next to Minerva who sat bolt upright, radiating disapproval.  
  
~  
  
Harry, sitting on the Gryffindor table, could only note how much McGonagall and Snape looked like Morticia and Gomez from the Addams Family, the muggles' T.V. show. . .he'd only ever seen it once, while Dudley had been watching it on television.  
  
~  
  
With impeccable timing, Dumbledore burst through the far door, breaking the tension and silence at last. Snape considered that he had never been happier to see the man, but quickly dismissed the thought. Fudge's mask of terror relaxed back to his normal look of heated anger. "At last! Dumbledore! What DO you think you're doing?!" "Hmm?" inquired Dumbledore, innocently, although Snape thought he saw him flash an amused glance towards him. "Letting a. paedophile like THAT," at this, Fudge pointed a finger (quivering with rage, of course), at Snape, "into a Hall full of Students?!" Snape's expression darkened. That wasn't nice. I mean, thought Snape, Fudge is a blithering idiot, but I don't say anything. It wasn't nice at all. That was actually quite nasty.  
  
His expression deepened into a glower reserved usually only for the likes of Potter.  
  
Dumbledore frowned.  
  
The school held its breath.  
  
Minerva looked faint.  
  
This was WAR.  
  
The silence that had followed Snapes angry outburst before was a mere Nothing compared to this. . . You could have heard the spiders spinning their webs. As it was, you heard only Fudge's embarrassed, mumbled apology. ". . .a-ha.. . sorry. . ." That was enough. Snape stood up, a tall, domineering spectre of impending doom, and looked pointedly at Fudge. "I can think of better places to do this," he said, bitingly. Fudge looked even more uncomfortable.". . .well, I suppose so, yes," Dumbledore gave his famous, dreamy smile. "Shall we take it to my office, gentlemen?" Fudge looked as tough he was about to make some retort about Snape being no gentleman, but caught the look in Minerva's eye. Sensibly, he kept his mouth shut, and followed Dumbledore and Snape. ~ * ~  
  
Minerva looked after them and sighed. Why was Severus totally incapable of keeping himself out of trouble? He needed a woman to look after him. . . pity he was gay, really.  
  
~ * ~  
  
Snape thought back to his previous pondering.  
  
It was, indeed a day of questions. 


	34. Rot in Hell

Chapter 34  
  
  
  
Thanks for all reviews!  
  
. . .go see Ambrosius' new fic and poem, and then go and see Naomi's Valentine's efforts too. . . . Alysun  
  
Rot in Hell.  
  
The weather was behaving most inappropriately, Snape decided, when they reached Dumbledore's bright, sunlit office. The grey, rainy clouds had disappeared, and the sun was shining, albeit weakly, in the winter's sky. Dumbledore sat down in his chair, and invited the two men to join him. Snape sat, and leaned back into the straight backed chair, giving him the air of one who knows what he's doing. Fudge sat down uneasily in the other chair, leaning as far away from Snape as he could. It was Fudge who began the conversation. "So. Dumbledore. You still think it fit to do as you please in this school?" "I assure you Cornelius, it is not at all like that," answered Dumbledore calmly. Fudge snorted. "Certainly looks that way to me! I had to come here today anyway, even with out the newspaper scandals. You know what Narcissa has been saying?" "No. I was told only that she had finally agreed to be questioned," Dumbledore said, appearing only to be mildly interested. Snape watched Fudge like a hawk. What had Narcissa said? It would be damning, whatever it was. . . Fudge seemed shifty; even more so than usual. He was moving his position in the chair all the time, not sitting still, as though sitting on an ants' nest. At Dumbledore's self-acclaimed ignorance, Fudge sat up straight, a triumphant look on his face. He leaned in confidentially towards Dumbledore, as though trying to block Snape out. "She's saying that she saw Snape there! That night, she saw Snape! In the Manor! Late at night, without invitation or excuse as to why he was there!"  
  
Fudge leant back, taking in the effect of his revelation. It was somewhat disappointing. Instead of being amazed and shocked, as expected, he merely nodded and asked Snape, "Were you up at the Manor that night, Severus?" "No, Headmaster," he answered. The bare-faced audacity of the woman! It would be her word against his. . . Ah. So that was why she chose to say that. No-one would believe him when he denied his presence at the Manor. . .no-one save Dumbledore. And Draco, but that was hardly reassuring in the circumstances. "Can you recall what you were doing that night, Severus?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly. Snape fought to stop himself from glowering. "After lessons ended, I did marking, for about an three hours or so. . .and then started planning the next day's lessons. That took me until about nine o'clock. At nine, I put the ingredients needed for the next day ready, and read until. . .quarter to eleven? I'm not sure. . .anyway, I was disturbed by someone knocking on my door. I opened it to see one of the house-elves, with a letter. I took the letter and dismissed the elf. The letter was concerning Lucius' death; from Narcissa. It was quite simple. It said something along the lines of; Dear Professor Snape, I am sorry to inform you that my dear husband, Lucius Malfoy, has been found to be sadly deceased. It appears to have been murder.  
  
It was signed by Narcissa, and written in her handwriting. About ten minutes after receiving the letter, Draco Malfoy came to me, in considerable distress; he had also been notified of the tragedy." Snape stopped. He really, really didn't want to go on. Dumbledore asked, although he already knew, "Do you still have Narcissa's letter?" "No. It had a self destruction spell on it; much like that attached to Howlers, though this hadn't the sound effects," sighed Snape, realising how weak this sounded. He had no proof. He had no alibi. Fudge looked cynical. "Why would she do that?" Snape shrugged again, an eloquent gesture of ignorance. Fudge stared at him, calculatingly. "I'm afraid that you can't stay here after the newspaper article," he said.  
  
Before Snape could even think to answer, Dumbledore intervened. "Innocent till proven guilty, Minister! There is no reason why he shouldn't stay. Besides, if he leaves, the rumours will only get worse!" "Nonsense, Albus! You know as well as I do, no smoke without fire! I refuse to believe that this man has done nothing, and yet proved a rumour such as this!" "Don't be ridiculous! I can't believe you honestly think that Severus is a murderer. . ."  
  
Not a murderer? He knew he had the perfect background history for murder. . .Death Eaters are generally murderers. . . Snape was thinking frantically. What should he do? Should he admit to his 'relationship' with Draco? Or should he deny it with Lucius's murder? What about his relationship with Lucius? That was bound to come out now. . .tell them. . .he would have to tell them everything. Snape shuddered in cold realisation. No sanctuary was offered, no place of hiding where he could sit and think. He was dimly aware of Dumbledore reasoning with Fudge's rash, yet hideously accurate statements. Why was he even bothering? He would have to leave in the end anyway. . . He thought of the letter of resignation he had written, laying in its dark sanctum in the bottom drawer of his desk . . . he had decided against giving it in then, but now it didn't matter. Any pride or dignity that it would have saved then was now redundant. He was not going to get out of this. Narcissa was sending him down. . .Draco at her side, helping her on his downfall. He realised that the conversation had stopped, and both men were looking at him, as though expecting an answer to a question. "Sorry. . .?" "I asked if one day was enough to tie up any loose ends. Cornelius here thinks it best if you were gone by tomorrow," Dumbledore's voice disguised his resentment to this request, though his eyes did not. "That will be quite sufficient, Headmaster," he said quietly. Sufficient? More than sufficient. . . He had very little to organise. "Good," said Fudge briskly. "May I ask where I am to be taken?" asked Snape in the same restrained tone. It may have been his imagination, but Fudge seemed uncomfortable. "Well, to Azkaban. . .though only until the trial," he said, starting slowly, rushing the end. Snape nodded, staring distantly into the grain of the wooden table. "The trial will be when?" "In a few weeks, not to far away, I assure you. . ."said Fudge, standing to leave. Snape nodded again, still not looking at Fudge, not liking to think of what he would see in the big, red, blundering face. "Yes. Well. Must be off. . .the guards will fetch you at eight. Goodbye Dumbledore," Fudge said, hurriedly, anxious to leave, to get out. "Good bye, Cornelius," said Dumbledore gravely, and watched him take his hat from the stand, throw his cloak over his shoulders, and leave, slamming the door behind him.  
  
He wasn't angry. He would have liked to have been, for Severus's sake, but. . .angry wasn't an easy emotion for someone as amiable as he. Instead he felt heavy resentment towards Fudge, and deep sorrow for Severus. If Severus deserved anything, it wasn't this. Severus was still staring at the desk, the dark thoughts in his mind showing on his face. "I'm sorry," said Dumbledore. It was all he could think of, in the given situation. Severus sighed, and tore his eyes from the desk, and looked at Dumbledore. His eyes showed a twisted kind of melancholy, dark and deep. "There was nothing you could have done. Though I thank you for trying, of course," he said. Dumbledore nodded. "You'd better go and sort things out. I'll alert your classes that you won't be teaching again today. I'll tell them you are leaving tomorrow." Severus nodded. He stood to leave. "Thank you," he said again, his usually sharp tone lost. "Of course," said Dumbledore, and stood also. Snape turned, and left, shutting the door with a quiet click, in comparison to Fudge's crash. Dumbledore stood and looked at the door, his mind drifting. His head hurt. It was all so fast. The trial in a couple of weeks? There would be a lot to be organised. . . Damn this, where was his Pensieve? He would just have to make sure that no-one looked at it again. . . He retrieved it from the black cabinet, and set it on his desk. Settling himself behind it, he prepared for a long session. Everyone, he decided afterwards, should have a Pensieve.  
  
Snape was in his office. Everything was sorted. Even his desk was in some kind of order, compared to its usual squalor. He was looking at three things that were set on the desk; his wand, a small vial of Veritaserum, and three leaves from a hemlock plant. His wand. . .so many times he had used it for the Unforgivable Curses, and then Memory Charms. . . Veritaserum, the truth serum so strong, three drops would cause the consumer to speak the truth in answer to any question. Hemlock leaves. Poisonous. Very poisonous in fact. To eat those three leaves would mean to be paralysed, then given a slow death. His wand would be taken from him in the morning before anything else happened. It would not be snapped, which was a small comfort, at any rate. Would they think to use Veritaserum him or Narcissa? If only they would on Narcissa. . . Hemlock, Lucius's favourite poison. Why Snape had put it out, he could not fathom, but he had, as a whim. He could easily take it, the easy road out, the road that Draco had tried to take. No-one would stop him. No-one, save himself. He pushed the leaves away, accepting his fate, acknowledging his doom. Nothing left. He may as well rot. Rot in hell. He deserved it after all; after all the Mudblood killings, the Muggle chases, the torture he had put innocent people through. . . To rot in hell. . . he deserved it. Rot in hell. 


	35. Never Again

Chapter 35. * g * After having an almost overwhelming response from people yelling at me not to put Sevvie in Azkaban, I may end up being beaten to death. . .or praised highly for keeping him out. . . And. . .Big News. . .*drum roll* . . . I HAVE AN ENDING!!!! Lol! Sorry, I make stories up as they go on, and never seem to know what is happening next. . .but now I know, and am very happy! More angst to come. . . garnished with a sprig of humour. . . Thanks to all the wonderful people who review regularly, i.e., Ruby Rose Edwards (Glad you corrected yourself. . .* G *), Ambrosius, Hanakin, Priestess of Avalon, Blonde Ditz (thanks for the plug!), Pervert Bitch. . . and then thanks to Sleepy Tee and Dianne also- I know you're out there! And, of course, thanks to Naomi, to whom I am greatly indebted! YAY! More fantastic fics are out. . .Naomi has finally done something smut free (so far ^_^) The Dark Side of the Road. . .for all Marauder fans out there. Go read!! Alysun. Never Again. Draco's rage did not diminished in the least as the day went on. In fact, if anything it had increased. He had been late for Transfiguration, which amazingly, MacGonagoll had over looked, and sat himself down in his usual place between Crabbe and Goyle. As she turned to make notes on the board, Draco hissed angrily at his two sidekicks. "Why didn't you get me up?!" Crabbe hung his head, but Goyle, the slightly dimmer of the two, whispered back, "You told us to leave you, didn't 'cha?" Draco glared. Damn! Of course he had. . . It all seemed so long ago . . . well, they were back with him now. "Not any more," he muttered to them, as MacGonagoll turned and began to explain the complex notes that they had supposed to have taken down. ~ * ~ After they had left Transfiguration they had a free period; Potions classes had been cancelled, Draco noted. Not being present at breakfast, he didn't know what had happened. Goyle, once again, showed his stupidity. "What d'you fink 'bout Professor Snape at breakfast, den?" he asked, and received a mighty whack in the shins from Crabbe. "Stop bein' so stupid! 'E don't wanna know 'bout Professor Snape, d'ya, Draco?" Crabbe said, supportively. Unfortunately for him, it was not what Draco wanted to hear. Before he could open his mouth to speak again, Draco had spun round and slammed him against the corridor wall. It took quite an effort, what with being shorter and not as strong as Crabbe, but he had the Element of Surprise. "DON'T mention the "S" word!" he hissed, a manic glint in his eye. Crabbe's eyes widened. "Wha'?!" he said hoarsely. "The "S" word!" spat Draco, "Don't say it. EVER! Understand?" "Wha' word?" "Snape!" Draco snarled, and let go of Crabbe, and resumed the walk down the corridor. The two followed, feeling glad that Draco was no longer suicidal, but worried that they were now stuck with a raving loony. "What happened at breakfast?" he asked, not looking back, but keeping a considerable pace. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged nervous glances behind Draco's back. Goyle explained. "Well. . .err. . . Professor Snnnn. . .a-hah, er. . .Professor. . . You Know 'Oo, was taken way by da Minister, woss name. . .Fudge! Yeah, Fudge. . .came in at breakfast," he managed, sweating with the effort of being tactful. Draco appeared not to notice, but nodded curtly. They reached the Slytherin common room. After uttering the password, and pushing open the doorway, Draco led the way in, glowering openly, prepared for the hostility. The noise of chattering students stopped. Every single person was watching him, openly staring. "What?" he asked coldly, and turned to go up to his dorm, not waiting for a reply, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. No-one stopped him. The next day wasn't so bad. His fellow Slytherins seemed slightly more relaxed around him, though they learnt quickly not to say anything about Snape, after three fifth years were taken away to the hospital wing. And that was without the help of Crabbe and Goyle. The rage was still there. It would ALWAYS be there. How dare he use him like that? The bastard. . . ~ * ~ Dumbledore sighed, and massaged his temples, trying to ease the most recent headache that had come on. The previous day's events were creating a lot of paperwork. On his desk in front of him were shafts and shafts of parchment, cluttering the normally tidy surface. Names, dates, paragraphs of past history, all sorts of mostly useless information resided in the mess. Fudge had notified him earlier that day of the possible dates that the trail could be held on. The earliest date was two weeks away. Would he be able to get everything ready by then? He fervently hoped so. . . for Severus's sake, he hoped so. . . He looked down at the list that had come with Fudges dates. It was an indicator of the people wanted at the trail to be witnesses. He read it through again. They wanted. . . any former lovers. Madeline? Would she count? Mike had died in Azkaban long since; he hadn't been a Death Eater, but had been found guilty of making sport of Muggles. Dumbledore couldn't think of anyone else who Snape had 'seen' in his past. Someone from Draco's Potions class. . .this, Dumbledore presumed was to see if Severus had made any. . . improper advances on Draco in the classroom. It was proving difficult to find an unbiased member of the group. . . Dumbledore fished another list off the table top. It was a copy of Severus's register for the Gryffindor/ Slytherin Sixth Year class. A lot of names had been crossed off. . .Draco's, Crabbe's, Goyle's, Harry's (his had been the first to go), Ron's, Neville's (a close second), Pansy's, Lavender's. . . in fact only two remained; Blaise Zabini and Hermione Granger. After one last hesitation, Dumbledore dipped his quill in the inkpot, and scratched out one name, leaving him with at least one witness for the impeding trial. The other witnesses that the judge wanted present, was a relation, and someone who had known Severus all his life. . . Dumbledore intended to go for the later himself, but was unsure who to recruit for the other one . . . as Severus had said, he had been pushed out of his family at the age of fifteen. . . There was nothing for it. Dumbledore stood up and moved over to the black display cabinet, where he dragged a huge book from underneath it. The title "Apperation Directory R- Z," was written in gold on the midnight blue cover. Straightening up, he placed it carefully on his desk, and started to flick through until he reached the "S" 's. He stopped at "Snape, Cydas", and copied down the co-ordinates onto yet another bit of parchment. Taking the Apparation co-ordinates, he left for Hogsmede. ~ * ~ After Disapperating out of Hogsmede, and Apparating to the co-ordinates he had previously looked up, Dumbledore found himself way out in the country. Looming up above him was what could only be Severus's birthplace; Snape Mansion. It was a Mansion too; it had a vaguely Georgian look about it, the tall, dark windows, the huge double doors that was the main entrance, the gates and all. . . Sighing resolutely, Dumbledore set about the task he had set himself. Meeting the parents. He looked at the formidable wrought iron gates uncomprehendingly, until his sharp eyes stopped the bell pull on the far end. He pulled it. Nothing happened. Still, nothing happened. Dumbledore sighed, and tapped his foot impatiently. At last, he could make out a small figure of a house elf, running frantically up to the gates. At long last, he thought. He hadn't time to spare standing out in the cold, so to speak. The breathless elf, poked its head through a gap in the gate and squeaked, "What is you wanting, sir?" Dumbledore favoured the elf with a smile, as he smiled to himself. He could not but help to find these creatures amusing, if stupid. "I wish to see you Master," he said. The elf looked uncertain. "Is you not having an appointment, sir?" "I'm afraid not, though assure you, it is urgent, and very much in the interest of your master," he said, hoping that this would be enough to persuade the elf to let him in. The elf, however seemed to be in the depths of indecision. He dithered, as though wondering whether or not to go and tell his master about the strange man wanting to see him. "As I say, it is most important. I can only apologise for the lack of appointment," said Dumbledore again, pushing the elf to believe him, and open the gates. It worked. The elf gave a little sigh, as though knowing what would happen if he had got it wrong, and tugged open the gates. After holding them open, just wide enough to let Dumbledore through, the elf let go, and they gate slammed shut, barely missing the hem of Albus's robes. "This way, sir!" squeaked the elf, and took the led down the long drive way. As Dumbledore walked, following the skittering elf, he let his mind wander, and he mused on the purpose of having a long drive way. Were they merely to tire out ones guest, so that they would be easier to manipulate? Just for decoration? Or was it along the lines of, the longer the drive, the higher up in society you are? If that was the case, the Snape's would be somewhere near the top. . . After a while, the expanses of well kept gardens became two lawns, one on the left of the drive, one on the right. Directly in front of him lay Snape Mansion, in all its glory. After a momentary pause to admire the scenery, he followed the scampering elf. Inside the Mansion was unsurprisingly dark and gloomy, though plush; the carpets were thick in the darkest of forest green. The walls were also green, but slightly lighter in colour. As his eyes acclimatised to the gloom, he noticed the swords, dagger, spears and such like that was mounted on the high walls. So this is where Severus grew up. The elf had left him by this time, off to inform Cydas and Seneca of his arrival. Familiar though Dumbledore was to the upper aristocracy, he felt strangely out of place in this dark, sinister place, with its bloody relics of war and fighting memorabilia. Out of place was not something that he was used to; even on his rare visits to Malfoy Manor, he had felt more relaxed, the air of mystery and foreboding much less there than here. There was no sound other than the dark, dank, oppressive silence that ate time and spat it out, leaving the hall as a timeless entity, a second lasting an hour, and hour lasting a minute. Dumbledore didn't know how much time had passed when the elf hastened back top him, eyes wider than ever before. "Master Snape is wanting your name, Sir!" he squeaked, panicky. It was obvious that Snape senior was as hostile as his son. It was also clear that he would not let Dumbledore come in any further on hearing his name. Damn. "Tell your Master that my name is of no importance; the message I bring is, however," he said cryptically. That would surely catch Cydas's attention? The elf stared, uncertain of what move to make next. Dumbledore felt desperately sorry for the poor thing; he knew that after he left that it would be punished for letting him in without appointment. He considered a word of apology to the creature, but decided not, and merely stared at it, as though expecting it to have left long since. Taking the hint, the elf dashed off, to deliver the new message. Dumbledore was left alone again in the corridor, feeling inappropriate. . .and then he realised what it was. In the eyes of the Snape's, he wasn't good enough. Which was why he was so out of place. Which was why they had shunned Severus so easily. Which was why time didn't seem to pass in the dark hallway. Not good enough. He shivered inside, knowing what he was up against, and realising that his trip had already been pointless, without even seeing Cydas or Seneca. The elf skittered back into his sight. Exhausted and breathless form his rapid relaying of messages, and uttered, "Mas. . .ter. . .will see. . . Sir, now. . ." between gasps for breath. "Very good, " answered Dumbledore, mentally preparing himself for the Snapes. After two flights of stairs, he began to see why the elf was so tired. Four flights, two landings and a secret passageway later, the elf finally dew to a halt, in front of a forbidding black, wooden door. It knocked three times, and a cold, clipped voice from within the chamber uttered a single word; "Enter". There was no exclamation at the end of the word, indeed the voice sounded like it needed the word 'exclamation' explaining to it. . . It was a voice that drew Dumbledore back to his own school days. . .he had never been a model pupil- good grades but got up to easily as many pranks as the Weasley twins. He had often been called up to the Head Master's office, where he had been severely reprimanded, by a voice not so very unlike the one he heard now. Mentally shaking off the nostalgia, he followed the elf through the well oiled door. Inside was considerably lighter than the dark hallways, but the décor no more cheerful. The wallpaper was a distinctive shade of grey, the carpet and curtain hangings a deep, jet black. The midday light streamed through the window, making it seem almost gloomier in contrast to the outside world. World indeed . . . the Mansion was like a whole different universe in comparison to anything Dumbledore had ever experienced anywhere else. And it wasn't a universe he liked. The gigantic room was sparsely furnished, holding only a desk, a floor to ceiling wall long bookcase, and a desk. The desk was in the centre of the room, directly in front of the window, shadowing the figure that sat, hunched over, in front of it. Dumbledore heard the elf dismiss itself, and close the door behind him, leaving him alone with the silent silhouette of a man. As the door clicked shut, the man said in an a voice like a winters breeze, "Take a seat." Dumbledore walked across the large expanses of black carpet silently, intimidated by the sheer. . .sinister, oppressive. . . there were no words he could find for it, but it was there, making him feel small. Was it any wonder Severus was so reluctant for company after this bizarre setting for a childhood? He sat in the chair, feeling about twelve again. There was a pause, that Dumbledore's host left a second or so too long, throwing him slightly off balance, mentally. "So. The elf said you have important news," the tone was not unlike Severus's, thought Dumbledore briefly. The only difference being, Severus would ask for his visitor's name at least. Than again, this man can afford to be careless. . . Dumbledore realised that he was in the presence of a man who would and could kill him easily, and no-one would ever know. . .no- one knew he was here, after all. . . Once again, he shook himself mentally. "Indeed. Though it is, I admit, more of a request of you," he said. Once again, there was a pause that went on for longer than necessary, and was broken suddenly. Dumbledore suddenly saw what he was trying to do. Psychological warfare! He would have smiled, if it hadn't have been so inappropriate. Well, now he knew, it wasn't going to work. . . "I see." A question wrapped in a statement. He was pushing Dumbledore to talk freely, trying to fill the ominous gaps. "Good," answered Dumbledore. He wasn't filling anybody's gaps but his own. This silence left went on for an eternity, both men staring at each other, maintaining eye contact, and never looking away. . . Dumbledore took the opportunity to study the man who had brought Severus up in more detail. There was no doubt that they were related; they bore the same Jewish, hooked nose, sallow face and sunken eyes. His hair was as black as his sons, but slicked back, shorter, out his face, showing his dark eyes. The eyes. . .the biggest difference between him and Severus. Severus's were dark, deep and empty, showing no emotion, a blank wall preventing anyone from reading his thoughts. His father's were also dark, but with out the depth. The shone with a cold light, judging as though they had the power of a god, berating and condemning with no feeling what so ever. He didn't need hide his feelings. He didn't have any. The silence ended abruptly. "I will not pretend not to know who you are, Albus Dumbledore, nor why you are here. But I strongly advise you to turn around now, go back to you're school, and pretend you've never set foot in this place. If you do not know what happened in the boy's past, then I won't tell you. If you do, then you should know better than to come and try and beg for him." Again, no feelings, no emotions. Dumbledore looked at Cydas in the eye, trying to find some lee way, some weakness in the man that might aid him on his quest. There weren't any. "Does Seneca agree?" he asked, trying a different tack. "My wife agrees with everything I say, and you would do well to remember that," the voice betrayed nothing. "No matter what you like to think, Severus is still your son," said Dumbledore. There was a flash of burning anger in Cydas's eye now. "I have no son!" he snarled, upper lip curling in a manner much reminiscent of Severus. "That is a lie, Cydas Snape, and you know it as well as I do," said Dumbledore coldly. Why was the man so angry over something as unimportant as this. . .? There was a quiet knock on the door, breaking the silence left by Dumbledore's accusation. "Enter," Cydas said again, not moving his eyes from Dumbledore's face, not trusting his guest for a minute. Dumbledore, not daring to avert his gaze from Cydas, heard the door open and close, followed by the rustle of silk robes as footsteps crossed the room to stand by Cydas. Seneca. She was tall, elegant and slender, long dark hair falling around her waist. Her skin was white, her eyes set like sapphires, burning blue out of the pale recess of her face. She laid a slender hand on her husband's shoulder. Severus obviously had his mother's figure. She turned her blue serenely onto her husband. "An elf said we had a visitor. Can I be of any use?" he voice was deep, quiet and controlled, quite the opposite to her husbands cold, curt tone. "He was just leaving," said Cydas, not looking at his wife. "Of course," she purred, and looked up at Dumbledore. "Shall I show you the way?" she asked. "Thank you," answered Dumbledore, knowing it would be futile to try and talk to Cydas any longer. Maybe Seneca. . .? She glided across the expanses of carpet to wait by the door for him. "Thank you for seeing me," said Dumbledore coldly to Cydas as he stood up. "But I fear I merely wasted both your time and mine." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and followed the elegant, silk clad figure out of the room. Just as he reached the door, the cold voice stopped him, "Oh, and Dumbledore?" Dumbledore turned. "Don't come back," Cydas said, and turned back to his paperwork in way of a dismissal. Dumbledore nodded, and left with the gently smiling wife. She closed the door, and led the way down stairs at a steady, gentle pace. "You must forgive my husband's abruptness," she sighed, "he still can't believe Severus turned out the way he did." Dumbledore fell into pace beside her. "How did you know that was what we were discussing?" he asked, mildly surprised. "I was listening from behind the door," she told him calmly. Dumbledore was taken back. She smiled at him lazily through her long lashes. "Oh, don't worry, Albus, it's the only way I hear about things. . .you don't mind me calling you Albus?" "No not at all," he answered. What an existence! An unapproachable father, and a mother who listened at doors and seemingly cared about no-one or nothing! Is it any wonder Severus is the way he is?! Did she care about Severus though? Should he ask? Fortunately, she solved his dilemma for him. "He was so upset at the time," she emphasised. Then added, "Poor thing." "Who?" asked Dumbledore, "Severus or Cydas?" She gave a deep, appreciative chuckle. "My, my Albus. . .we are presumptuous today, aren't we? I meant my husband, but it could also apply to my son, I suppose," she said, sounding vaguely amused. Dumbledore smiled, then nodded. "You do care about Severus then?" he asked. He knew was being presumptuous, but he had to be. . . he needed answers. Seneca looked sharply at him-the first sudden movement she had made. "Oh, of course I care," she said silkily. "Why else do you think I had him disinherited?" Dumbledore stared. What the. . .?! "Sorry, I don't quite. . .?" he said through his confusion. Her suddenly surprised face melted back into her normal, genteel smile. "My apologises. . .I am not making myself clear enough," she murmured, "How well do you know my husband Albus?" she asked, turning down a corridor that Dumbledore knew for certain that he had never been down before. He felt distinctly uneasy; Seneca's vaguely flirtatious manner making him uncomfortable, the fact that he was in a strange (in all senses of the word) house, in a corridor he was unfamiliar with making him want to reach for his wand. As though reading his thoughts, Seneca laid a cold hand on his right arm- his wand arm- and smiled again. Through his discomfiture, Dumbledore noticed that she never showed her teeth as she smiled. "Don't worry," she reassured in an almost motherly tone. Dumbledore nodded dumbly. "You were saying how well you knew my husband. . .?" she prompted. He dragged himself from his thoughts. "Hmm. . . I can't say I do. I assume he must have gone to Durmstrang or some such like, as I can't recall ever teaching him. His bloodline is one of the oldest pure blood wizarding lines in existence, and he is very high up in the world of the aristocracy; so high he is almost unknown by the . . .a-ha. ..common, for want of a better word, people," summarised Dumbledore briefly. Seneca's smiles held a dreamy touch to it now as she went on to explain herself. "Very good, Albus, "she purred, "Very much as he likes himself to be seen. And it is also a reality," her nose flared delicately as she shared an in joke with herself. She went on. " The Snape bloodline is, as you say one of the oldest pure blood lines still around. He is very . . .proud of this. . ." she spoke slowly, but not uncertainly. Her quiet, slow, confident tone was gentle and soft, held a dreamy quality to it, but didn't quite hide the sharp intellect that the woman obviously had. She went on. "Yes, very proud. . . maybe too proud. He wishes for the line of Snapes to go on forever, but sees the end approaching. Poor Severus. . . he was too young to see that. . . " she broke off with a small sigh, betraying her impatience for those who didn't understand what they needed to. Impatience for fools. Another Severus characteristic. "When Cydas found him and the boy together, he recognised the potential end of the Snape line - or at least his part of it. He has a brother and three nieces. I think they're trying for a son," she waved an elegant hand, showing her disinterest in the matter. She went on. "So he tried everything to get the poor dear set straight, so to speak," she smiled slowly at her own joke. "And when it didn't work, he resolved to marry him off anyway, on the basis that he would grow out of it. Or maybe he planned just to kill him off. I can't remember," she equivocally. Dumbledore felt that nothing would ever surprise him ever again. The coldness of human nature sometimes. . . "So I said that it would be less inconvenient just to disinherit the unfortunate soul. Which it was, of course. Murder's such a messy business. . ." she dropped the mention of murder into the conversation casually. Now, why did she say that then? Dumbledore wondered. She sighed again, and led him through another doorway, into a room. What on earth?! Thought Dumbledore. She was supposed to show me out. . . "Sorry, but where have you brought me?" inquired Dumbledore, looking around the deserted room. It had obviously been a bedroom once, some time ago. Dust lay thick on the furniture. It the centre of the room was a huge four poster bed with drapes of heavy midnight blue velvet. The carpet and curtains were the same colour, though the walls were lighter. It appeared to be a running theme throughout the mansion; curtains, carpet, drapes one colour, the walls lighter. The was a huge bookcase on the left wall, but it held nothing but dust. The wardrobe door hung open, but held only a pair of dusty shoes. The occupant of the bedroom had obviously long since left. The room seemed to have been left un-cleaned from then onwards. "This?" said Seneca with an eloquent wave, "was Severus's bedroom when he was a child." Having said all that she wanted to, she sat on the end of the bed. The sheets were dishevelled, left un-made. She crossed her legs, deliberately, batting her long, dark lashes at Dumbledore. Even through the rush of horrified realisation that she was making passes at him, Dumbledore couldn't help but notice how attractive she was; her pale, heart shaped face, the intelligent bright blue eyes, shapely figure. . . He stopped himself. This was Severus's mother! He couldn't. . . She couldn't do . . . Had she no integrity?! "This is a very lonely house," she injected into the pregnant pause. "I can imagine," answered Dumbledore, and moved on quickly. "Sorry, I must ask to leave soon. . .there is a meeting up at the school which I simple can't afford to miss. . ." Seneca smiled seductively, and shrugged her robes half off her shoulders. "But Albus, we could have so much more fun. . ." When he didn't join her on the bed, she stood up and padded over to him, stopping about three inches from him. The fact that a married woman was making suggestions in her son's room, with her husband in the house- although in a place as big as this, he supposed it didn't matter that much- made him sick. He had to get out before things got out of hand. . . "I'm sorry, I can't. . ." She cut him off with a deep kiss, her tongue forcing it's way into his mouth, her arms wrapping themselves around his waist, holding him securely.  
  
Caught off guard, he pulled away, shocked. "I have to go, " he repeated, dazedly, pushing her away gently. She was so beautiful. . .So willing. . . He shook his head, trying to clear himself of such unwelcome thoughts. He stepped back, away from the woman. He turned and made to leave the room, not daring to look at the figure in fear of losing his self control. Her hand caught his shoulder, forcing him to stop and turn to look at her. She looked hurt and desperate, a distressed, raven haired beauty. "Albus, please. . ." she begged. Not daring to speak, Albus shook his head, left the room, closing the door behind him. Outside, he closed his eyes and took deep, calming breaths. He opened his eyes, and, feeling a little calmer, turned and fled from the room. He wandered randomly until he was sure that she wasn't following him, and Disapparated back to the safety of Hogsmede.  
  
~ * ~ Out of the shadows, the figure of Seneca appeared. She smiled an amused smile. Drawing her wand, she sent a summons her husband, who joined her almost immediately. "How far did he go?" he asked. "Not far. Not far enough to be of any use, anyway" she said, her voice mellifluous. She was stood behind him, and as she talked, she wound her arms around him adoringly. "Damn." "Quite. We will have to tell Narcissa, darling." "Mmmm. You can do it, I don't think I want to see her reaction." "Awww. . .poor sweetie. . ." she said playfully, and kissed her husband's ear. "Alright, but I still say you should have let me kill him," she said and bared her fangs. He smiled affectionately and turned to look at her, sliding a welcome arm around her waist. "Next time, honey pie, next time. . . and then maybe even Severus, if Narcissa's plan doesn't work." She smiled. ~ * ~ Dumbledore sent an owl to Madeline, who replied that she would definitely come and be a witness for Severus. He had decided that he would pass on the relation. Instead, he went down to the library and looked up "Vampire Inheritance," a book covering everything about vampires. Including vampire parents. He stopped at the relevant page. "For a vampire child to be born, then both parents must be vampires themselves. The result of a human/vampire couple is merely a pale child with slightly prominent canines and an aversion to daylight." That was Severus alright. Thank gods. In the bright sunlit Library, the whole episode seemed distant and totally surreal. Meeting the parents. He shuddered. Never again. 


	36. Too Late

Chapter 36  
  
  
  
Right. I'm sorry this has taken me so long, but so many things have been happening to me. . . * sigh * anyway, my apologises for any glitches in the officialdom in the court scene, I have no idea. . . they just put me straight in the cells. . . Quarles the butler belongs to Priestess of Avalon, I am merely borrowing him. . .as I am merely boring Simpy from Naomi. Thanks, as ever to my reviewers and beta esp. Priestess of Avalon, Blonde Ditz, Hannakin, Ambrosius, Pervert Bitch, Audrey (for being so nice!) and all the rest, who I can't remember right now, due to a terrible memory. . .Alysun.  
  
Too Late.  
  
Empty. At the moment. The stage, with its single, metal chair, was deserted, as was the opposite podium. The seats that lined and filled the greyness were unoccupied. The underground chamber was cold and shadowy, lit only by flaming wall torches that flickered as the doors opened. The big, high security doors admitted two tall men, led by the short, irate figure of Cornelius Fudge. Fudge was talking in his sharp, impatient manner, shattering the silence like a porcelain figure dropped on a hard wood floor. The room was familiar with the presence of the tall, ageing figure to Fudge's left; Albus Dumbledore. he used be in there a lot. . . The other was new. . .  
  
~ * ~  
  
". . .right, the trial will start in half an hour from now, are all your witnesses and speaker ready Dumbledore? Good. . . I really shouldn't be involved in things like court cases, but as it is. . .yes, well. Judge, you ready? The podium alright for you there? Good. The jury is waiting off in the little side room over there, so that's fine. . .the press will be arriving soon. . ." Fudge's voice echoed hollowly around the room, as did the footsteps of the three men. Time passed, and the room started to fill up. . .first came the reporters, filling the front three rows. . .then the court artists with their enchanted equipment, then, finally, the rest. A selection of people who were thought to be fit to watch. On the first balcony, were the witnesses, Madeline Harlington, Albus Dumbledore, and Hermione Granger in the defence. Opposing them were Narcissa Malfoy, Draco Malfoy and Quarles, the Malfoy (human) butler. A house elf, Simpy by name, was also supposed to be standing, but no-one could find her anywhere. Hatred ran pure in the eyes of both Malfoys as Dementors led Snape onto the stage and onto the chair. Magical ropes sprung from nowhere and tied the slender, gaunt figure down firmly, and the Dementors backed out of the light into the shadows. The now fully assembled audience fell into a watchful silence.  
  
It was amazing, Dumbledore observed, how a man with accusations of murder and rape hanging over him, could look so calm and so composed. . .  
  
And indeed, he did. Admittedly, even after a short stay in Azkaban, he looked thinner, more tired than before. Despite this, his eyes. . .Eyes were always the first thing to show the horrors of the Dementors. After all, they are acclaimed to be the windows to the soul. But Snape's. . .they showed no more, no less than they ever did. It was quietly disturbing. He sat up straight in the chair, head held high in defiance of his accusers. Dumbledore caught his eye, and Severus replied, maintaining eye contact, though his face showed nothing. What was he thinking?  
  
Draco sat up in the balconies, also watching Snape. How could he look so cold and untouched? Part of him marvelled, whilst the other twisted and writhed in soul consuming hatred. This man. . .he had loved his father, then himself. . .and then killed his father. His mother had convinced him of this, whispering her words of sweet poison into his listening ear, when he had told her what Snape had said. What was he thinking?  
  
Why were Snape and Dumbledore staring at each other so intently? What did they know? Paranoia coursed through her like a drug, turning her blood cold. How had Snape guessed that she had killed him? The bastard. . .the utter, utter bastard. . .why couldn't he keep his filthy hands off her men, the fucked up, unnatural queer that he was. . . What was he thinking?  
  
Hermione also sat in the balcony, next to Dumbledore and a tall dark haired, grey eyed woman who she had never seen before. Further along the row were McGonagall, Blaise Zabini and Marcus Flint. She was also watching Snape. He's so composed. . . I wonder what he's really feeling? Her brow creased with worry. Why had Dumbledore picked her, of all people? Why not one of the Slytherins? He was, after all, their Head of House. . . She bit her bottom lip and ran through what she knew she must say. Deep, calming breaths, Hermione, deep, calming breathes. . . What was he thinking?  
  
The voice of the judge broke through the thoughts of the gathering, and started the trail.  
  
"Severus Cydas Snape, Professor of Potions at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, you have been accused of firstly the murder of Lucius Slazar Malfoy, and then the rape of his son, Draco Lucius Malfoy. To the murder of Lucius Malfoy, do you plead guilty, or not guilty?" "Not guilty." "To the rape of Draco Malfoy, do you plead guilty or not guilty?" "Not guilty."  
  
The courtroom was silent. The only other time the courtroom had felt this stony, morbidly interested silence, was at the trial of Barty Crouch. Not even then. . .  
  
The trial began.  
  
~ * ~  
  
First came the murder trial, started off by Narcissa's statement. "Well, it was dark. The Manor tends to be at night, but Lucius's study was always brightly lit. . . and anyway, it was darker than usual. So, I was walking down the passageway, to go and say goodnight to Lucius, and when I opened the door, there he was! Dead!" Her eyes were opened wide in pretty horror, innocent shock. It was almost comic. ". . ." she opened her mouth, but no sound was emitted. She tried again, and succeeded. "So I sent for the doctor immediately, even though I knew that he was. . .he was. . ." she choked and broke down in a flood of tears.  
  
"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy," the dry voice of the judge broke through. " Quarles, please tell the courtroom what you saw that evening."  
  
"Yes milord. It was an ordinary evening as far as I was concerned. After clearing away the evening meal, I went up to my rooms, to wait for the Master to ring for his evening drink of brandy. However, I was called down to the kitchens by one of the house elves, to fetch a tray from one of the upper most shelves. As I walked down, I noticed a tall, dark haired man entering the Master's study. I thought nothing more of this, as it was nothing to do with me. After fetching the tray, I returned to my room and continued waiting to be called. When it turned eleven, I went to bed, as told to on prior instruction," the man said. He was impossibly average. . .average height, average weight, average eye colour, average voice. . . though his eyes were slightly too close together.  
  
"Thank you, Quarles." There was a pause while the judge shuffled his notes. He turned to Snape, who had been listening impassively throughout. "Professor Snape, would you please recount your evening to the courtroom."  
  
"Certainly, milord," Snape's voice was dry and cordial. And perfectly calm.  
  
"It was rather uneventful for the best part. After lessons ended, I did marking, for about three hours or so. . .and then started planing the next days lessons. That took me until about nine o'clock. At nine, I put the ingredients needed for the next day ready, and read until about quarter to eleven. At that time, I was disturbed by someone knocking on my door. I opened it to see one of the house elves, with a letter. I took the letter and dismissed the elf. The letter was concerning Lucius death; from Narcissa. It was quite simple. It said something along the lines of; Dear Professor Snape, I am sorry to inform you that my dear husband, Lucius Malfoy, has been found to be sadly deceased. It appears to have been murder.  
  
It was signed by Narcissa, and written in her handwriting. It self destructed almost as soon as I had finished reading it. . .About ten minutes after receiving the letter, Draco Malfoy came to me, in considerable distress; he had also been notified of the tragedy," Snape finished. He had maintained perfect eye contact through out and hadn't wavered once. . .What was he thinking? What was he going through in his mind? His face told nothing. "Thank you," the judge said again, and referred to his notes. "At this point, we would usually have a witness of this, but there is no-one other than the house elf. . .who has seemingly disappeared from the face of the planet. . ." he looked up at Snape over his glasses, eyebrows raised inquiringly. Snape stared back, with mild curiosity. "Really? How. . .inconvenient," he said. The judge gave him a sharp look, and then returned to his notes. "Yes, very. . ."he muttered. "Professor, your alibi is far from waterproof. ..the is no way of knowing that you are telling the truth. Mrs Malfoy has the backing of a reliable family butler. Have you anything to say in which to defend yourself at this point?" Snape paused. ". . .Only one. May I draw attention to the fact that is a family butler? Quarles has been with the family for years, and is devote to their cause. . .I believe that it is perfectly possible for him to be lying to cover up Mrs Malfoy. I was nowhere near the Manor that night." The judge nodded as the jury scribbled down notes. "Very good." He turned back to Narcissa. "Mrs. Malfoy. Why do you think that Professor Snape, a man who has gained much respect over the years, would want to murder your husband, of whom he has not been in contact with in many years?" Narcissa flushed. This was it. Her moment. Her plan, her masterpiece was swung into play. . . "Yes, your honour. . . My husband and the Professor used to be very good friends in their school days, and met up again, many years later. . .and came, unknown to me, to back to the Manor. Lucius offered him a room for the night, which he took up. And then. . .and then later that night. . ." he voice faltered. She could feel Snape's eyes boring into her, mocking her, daring her to carry on. . .she took a deep breath. "And then he seduced my husband!" People stared. Quick Quote Quills went mad. The whisperings and muttered conversations that filled the chamber were deafening, and burned Dumbledore's ears. What a liar this woman is, he thought, mildly. Hermione stared. What?! Snape and Lucius Malfoy and then Draco? Her brow furrowed as she thought. The outburst settled down as the judge banged his hammer. "That's enough," he called irately. "Mrs Malfoy, continue if you will. Thank you." She looked at Snape, who stared back at her. He blinked, but didn't avert his gaze. She could feel it burning into her even after she looked away. "What happened that night, I don't know, and don't wish to know. . .but working some dark magic I don't understand, he managed to persuade my husband. . .to. . .to carry on with him. . .and have an affair!" He voice clogged with real tears. Wiping them away impatiently, she carried on, talking over the noise. "And then, and then, before Draco started school, they stopped. I found out all this from my husband about three months ago. . .he told me everything, and agreed the he would never, ever go back to Snape. . .he wrote him a letter telling him so! I think, I'm almost certain, I KNOW that it was Snape. . . letting his jealousy run away with him. . ." She wasn't looking at the judge any more as she talked, but glowering down at the chained man below her. He stared back calmly. Time froze as they sat there. . . And broke by the judge who was seemingly oblivious to the tension that filled the air. "Thank you. Professor, what do you have to say to this?" Snape nodded, in the judge's direction, but continued to stare at Narcissa.  
  
"There is no denying that me and Lucius were lovers for a long while. . .(more pen scratching and muttering from the audience). . .though some things in the lady's story are astray. For example, I did not seduce Lucius in any manner of means. He came to my room at the Manor late at night, and if anything, seduced me. And also, while I received a letter from him declaring his sudden wishes to go straight, I believe it to be forged. After Draco was born, we saw less of each other, both of us agreeing that it would be stupid to risk so much. Two years before Draco entered Hogwarts, we put everything on hold during Draco's education; it would have been far too risky. We were planning to carry on after Draco had left," Snape said, not moving his gaze from the hard glare of Narcissa. If he could hear the shock of the room, he didn't care. "He would never have gone straight. Not according to anything he said or did in our absences. . .he sent me two letters, almost like reminders, to me, both declaring his desire to see me again. And though I received this last letter, I refuse to accept it to be genuine. . .and even if it is real, then I was never driven into wanting to kill Lucius. . ." he drew to a close. There was no sound in the courtroom.  
  
Wow, thought Hermione.  
  
Even the judge appeared to notice the need for a quick silence to think, as he took a moment to gather his wits and move on. "Mrs Malfoy? Have you anything more to add?" She narrowed her eyes at Snape and said "yes," defiantly. She wasn't about to lose this to sentiments. "But you don't deny you. . .you carried on with Lucius?" she hissed. "My HUSBAND! The father of my only son, gay? I don't think so! You're a Potions Master. . .who's saying you didn't brew up some wicked concoction to obtain your goal? Hmmm? Lucius admitted everything to me! Everything! He said he would never leave me again!" she drew a ragged breath. Damn it all, her mascara was starting to run. . ."He sent that letter in all honesty. . .he meant every word. I saw him write it and then watched him send it to you. I was there," she said, more calmly, talking directly at Snape. He shrugged. "Maybe so. I wasn't there, so I don't know. All I know is that it seems highly out of character for Lucius. And if he did, it seems maybe inevitable. I see no reason to become angry over something I cannot control. And, I assure you I used no potions on him. . .without his consent, at any rate," Snape rationalised. She stared. "Do you have anything more to say, Mrs. Malfoy?" "No, your honour, "she whispered, not tearing her eyes from the seated figure in front of her. "Other than this; while he bats down my statements with such ease, does it make him innocent? He used to be a Death Eater, he's an accomplished liar." She sat back in her chair, self backed and righteous, her final trump played. The court room went berserk, talking, hurried conversations, quill's scratching on scraps of parchment, cameras clicking like mad. Dumbledore rose from his seat hurriedly, anxious to undo what had been tied, before it became implanted in people's minds. "Your honour, if I may? It is true enough that Severus Snape was accused of being a Death eater, but nothing was ever proved. Also, one question. . .how does Narcissa know of this? It is in the records, but in the highly confidential section," he said, and returned to his seat, hoping that that would be enough. More mutterings and the sound of quills scratching lines through previous notes, and re-writing them. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. Mrs Malfoy, if you would answer the question?" the judge intervened. She nodded. "My husband was in the Ministry for many years, and heard it as a rumour, and then found that it was true," she explained. "Sorry? He found that what was true?" the judge asked dryly. "Please be more specific in your answers, Mrs Malfoy." She blushed. "That he was accused, your honour," she said, reluctantly. Damn Albus Dumbledore. . . "Thank you. And do try not to make wild, unfounded accusations in future, we want an unbiased jury here. . ." She blushed again. "Professor Snape, is that all?" he asked. "Not quite, your honour. . ." Snape said. "Another question, though it is more rhetorical than anything. I am a Potions Master, as Mrs Malfoy was kind enough to point out before. . .and Lucius Malfoy was found stabbed to death. Why would I stab him, when it would be so much easier to administer poison? I know his habits well enough to know how and when." He shrugged again, hindered slightly from his binds. "Then again, why would I want to kill him at all?" he stopped suddenly, looking as though he had cut himself off from saying something that he shouldn't. The judge nodded and looked to Narcissa for a reply. She just shook her head and left it. Looking slightly relieved, the judge nodded his head. "Right, this has gone on long enough for now. An hour break for lunch, and the jury will be asked to discuss and make up their minds. During that time, we may as well continue with the next case, with the next jury." He banged his hammer. "Court dismissed."  
  
~ * ~  
  
Lunch came and went, and the court room filled up again, with a new jury and a renewed feeling of excitement. "Settle down," called the judge, and banged his hammer for order. "We now have the trial for the rape of Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy. He claims to have been taken advantage of by his Potions teacher, Severus Cydas Snape, whilst distressed about the news of his father. "Mr. Malfoy, if you would like to recount your story to the court?" Anger and hate rushed through him as Draco stood to tale the court what had happened. . .well. A version of what had happened. "I received the letter about father late at night. I can't remember the time exactly, but it was late. I was upset, and wanted to be alone, so I told my friends to leave me alone for a while. After about half an hour, I decided to go to Professor Snape, as he is our Head of House, and we're allowed to go and talk to him whenever we like. . . Well, I got there and went in to see that he was also upset at the news, but was very nice to me, and comforted me. He took through out of his office into his bedroom. . .and. . ." Guilt coursed through him suddenly. He was destroying the life of a man he had declared his undying love for. . .he shook it out of himself. That was before he had known that he had 'carried on', as his mother put it, with his father. "And raped me. I tried to stop him, but. . ." he hung his head for the watching crowd, and forced tears. "but he wouldn't!" He turned his head, partly for effect, partly because he didn't want to meet the gaze of the man he was condemning. Another silence within the room, sympathetic eyes watching Draco as his mother comforted him from his 'distress'. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," the judge said quietly. "Professor?" Snape nodded coldly. "Again, as with the last case, there are grains of truth in Mr. Malfoy's story, though there is one major glitch. I did not rape him, and never would. Yes, he came to me, and yes, I took him through to my sleeping quarters. Why? Because it is more private than my office, where anyone could have walked in on him, in his distress, which would not have been fair on him" he paused for the first time, then sighed and continued. "And yes, we. . .I . . .took advantage, if you like, though I assure you that he made no objections. In fact, he started it. . ." He jerked his head suddenly, as though annoyed by something. "No, now it sounds as though I'm trying to shift the blame. I'm not. It should never have happened." He paused again, looking for the words to rephrase his point. "To recount the exact happenings to you would be impossible, " he started again, quietly. "As a teacher. . .as a senior teacher, I should have known better, in so many respects. . .but I, also, was in considerable distress. Lucius Malfoy is. . .was possibly the only man I have ever truly loved, and to find that he was. . .dead. . ." he trailed off. He spoke distantly, as though his mind was somewhere else. It was. He sighed. "The likeness between Lucius Malfoy and his son is marked." No-one spoke. No-one quite knew what to say. Even the anxious quills of the reporters had been stilled, just for that minute, all eyes on the proud, defiant, gaunt man tied to the chair. "Thank you," the judge said, unemotionally, relieving the silence, which broke out into excited whisperings yet again. "Silence in the court!" called the judge, to no avail. He banged his hammer, which, if nothing else, seemed to aggravate the talkers into talking more loudly. "THERE WILL BE SILENCE IN MY COURT!" bellowed the judge. Silence fell again. "A-hem. Thank you," he said, regaining some of his lost composure. "In regarding the complete lack of evidence of any sort in this case, we have decided to call witnesses to portray the characters of both Draco Malfoy and Professor Severus Snape. They shall be called in turn, and questioned by me and any other member of the court or jury who wish to ask. No reporter may ask a question. We start with Professor Minerva McGonagall talking for Draco Malfoy." In due ceremony, McGonagall rose, as tight lipped and as sever as ever. "Professor, will you please describe to us your student Draco Malfoy to us." "Certainly, your honour, " she stated in her thick Scots accent. "Draco Malfoy is a boy of relevant intelligence and works hard to maintain his grades. He has an unfortunate sense of humour and a. . ." she struggled for words momentarily before continuing, ". . .misplaced sense of honour." "Misplaced, professor?" asked the judge. "Yes, your honour. " "In what way misplaced?" "He tends to follow his own rules, your honour." "I see. And what and for how long have you taught Draco Malfoy, Professor?" "I have taught him Transfiguration for six years now, your honour." "Thank you. Any questions?" finalised the judge, looking around the room. No-one rose. "Thank you, Professor, you may be seated." Minerva sank back into her place gratefully, her mouth in an impossibly thin line of disapproval. "Next we shall hear from Blaise Zabini, friend of Draco Malfoy." Zabini rose. "Mr. Zabini, in your own words, describe Draco Malfoy." Blaise stood awkwardly for a moment, and then began abruptly. "Draco's alright. He's good fun, y'know? Got a sense of humour. Ee's clever too. " He stopped as suddenly as he began. "Thank you. How long have you known Mr Malfoy, Mr Zabini?" "'Bout six years." "Would you say you are good friends with him?" Blaise hesitated and looked uneasy. "Yeah, we're alright, suppose. . ." "You're alright, you suppose?" Blaise shrugged. "Do you 'hang round' with him a lot, Mr Zabini?" the distaste for the phrase 'hang round' was marked. "A bit." "A bit. How much is a bit, Mr. Zabini?" "Just in the common room and stuff." The judge sighed. "Was Mr. Malfoy in any visible distress over his father's death?" "Yeah, course he was," Blaise said, almost in protest. "Of course. How did he talk about Professor Snape around the time mentioned?" The whole courtroom looked at Zabini for this one; even Snape rose himself from his thoughts to watch the face of the worried boy. "Well, he didn't really. I think he said something about him being nice about it though," Blaise said, painfully aware of the eyes that watched him. Draco bit his bottom lip in concern. "Snape's been really nice about it though. Almost understanding!" those had been his exact words. . .of course, he hadn't thought it was going to come to this at that point. "Thank you. Any other questions?" One of the jury rose and addressed Blaise. "How well did Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape get along, before any of this had happened?" Zabini shifted uncomfortably. "Alright, suppose." "Did Professor Snape favour Mr. Malfoy in anyway, do you think, Mr. Zabini? think carefully." Zabini stood on one foot, and then the other, searching for an answer. "I suppose he did. Favour Draco, that is. I mean, he would stop and talk to him in Potions more than he would anyone else, I suppose." The jury member sighed. "You suppose?" "Yeah." "Very well, that is all I have to ask." "Any other questions?" called out the judge. No answers. "Thank you, Mr. Zabini, you may be seated." Zabini sunk back into his chair like his legs wouldn't hold him any longer.  
  
"Next, we have Marcus Flint." Marcus Flint stood up slowly, his hulking figure hunched. "Mr Flint, will you please explain how you know Mr. Malfoy and then describe him in your own words? Thank you." "Umm. . . I'm the Slytherin Quidditch captain, and Draco is the seeker, which is how I know 'im. Umm. . .yeah, he's bright. . .he's funny too. Popular wiv everyone." Sensing that was all Flint had to say, the judge started his questions. "Do you think that Mr. Malfoy likes to be centre of attention, Mr. Flint?" Flint stared. "Well, yeah. Doesn't everyone?" "Quite. Do you think Mr. Malfoy would have made up this story of rape to be centre of attention, Mr. Flint?" "No, he ain't stupid!" "Thank you. Any other questions?" One of the watchers rose. "Would you describe the relationship between Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape before the news of Lucius Malfoy's death, Mr. Flint?" "Umm. . . I don't really know, I'm not in Malfoy's year." "Yes, I am aware of this, but from what you know, Mr. Flint what was their relationship like?" " Well. . .they got on well, I think. I mean, if we ever needed permission to use the Quidditch pitch, we always send Malfoy." "That's all, thank you." No-one else rose to question Flint, so he was duly seated, looking a little worried. Would they lose the broomsticks Lucius Malfoy bought them if Draco lost this case?  
  
The judge looked down warily at the list in front of him, and then took a sip of water from the glass that sat beside him. "Right. That was all of Mr. Malfoy's evidence, so we move on to Professor Snape. Professor Dumbledore is to talk first, I believe." Dumbledore stood, and was subjected to murmuring. "He's standing for Snape?" Leapt out at him over and over. The Judge called for silence. "Thank you. Professor, please describe Professor Snape, how long he has been working at Hogwarts and how well you know him." Dumbledore nodded, and spoke confidently to the courtroom. "Severus Snape is an honourable man, and has worked at Hogwarts for at least twenty years now. He prefers his own company, I believe, and is an intensely private person. He is strict, and is a great believer in rules, and subsequently punishment on breaking rules. He is generally quiet, despite having a rather unfortunate temper. " "Thank you. Do you think that Professor Snape would be likely to rape anyone?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "No, I would not." "Did you know about his relationship with Lucius Malfoy?" "Not at the time, no." "But you did before he mentioned it today?" "Yes." "Did he tell you?" "Yes." "Why?" "That is irrelevant to the matter in hand, your honour." "Is it?" "Yes." "I disagree." "That is a pity." Pause. "Can you even hint at what the conversation was about?" the judge pursued.  
  
"No, your honour." The judge sighed. "As you will, Professor Dumbledore. Are there any more questions?" Two people from the jury rose. Looking at each other briefly, one sat down.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore, did you not suspect anything between Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape after the incident occurred?" "I felt that something was wrong, certainly. I assumed that it was just the effect of Lucius's death, as I knew Severus had known him well." "Thank you." The jury member sat down, and the other rose. "Professor Dumbledore, sir, did you know about Professor Snape's relationship with Lucius Malfoy at the time of the latter's death?" "No, I did not, although it has no baring to the case in hand." The jury member flushed. "No, sir." The judge looked round. Spotting a reporter standing hopefully, he glowered. "NO reporters may ask questions," he growled. Reluctantly, the offender sat back down, quill in hand. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. Next to speak will be Miss Madeline Harlington." Dumbledore returned to his seat and continued to watch, pensively. As he sat the tall, dark haired who had been seated next to Hermione rose gracefully. "Miss Harlington, please describe Professor Snape in your own words, and how you know him." "Of course, your honour." Her voice was liquid, and perfectly calm. Again Snape was caused to look up. Ignoring his gaze, she started her description in her unconcerned voice. "We - Professor Snape and I - were at Hogwarts together. We were in the same year, and both Slytherin students, so we knew each other by sight. He was known for his bad temper and expertise in Potions and for his knowledge of curses and hexes and so on. We got on fairly well, and eventually we started to go out together. Eventually, I realised what he refused to see. That he was gay. I told him and everything was sorted out. He is - or at least was - basically, underneath, ok, but very hard to get to know." The courtroom followed the narrative with interest. "Thank you, Miss Harlington. Where you surprised when you heard that Professor Snape was accused of rape?" "Yes, very much so, your honour. It doesn't seem to be his. . . well, style, unless he has changed drastically from our schooldays, your honour." "Thank you. Are there any more questions for Miss Harlington?" Nobody stood. "Thank you. You may sit now, Miss Harlington." She graced the judge with a gentle smile and elegantly returned to her place. The judge continued. "And finally we have Miss Hermione Granger." Hermione stood as awkwardly as Blaise had, unsure where to look. Why, oh, why had she been picked? Why not one of the Slytherins? "Miss Granger would you please describe Professor Snape and how you know him." Snape looked up for this as well. A slight sneer played on his face as Hermione's eyes met his. "Yes, your honour," she said, tearing her eyes and her thoughts from her teacher. "Professor Snape teaches us - Sixth year Gryffindors and Slytherins, that is - Potions. Umm. . . he does tend to favour the Slytherins, but then, he is their Head of House. . . he doesn't stand for any. . .foolery in his classes and is generally very strict." Hermione could feel herself blush as she felt Snape's eyes on her again. She refused to look at him, but stood resolutely, her held high. "Thank you, Miss Granger. Would you say that Professor Snape favours Draco Malfoy in his lessons?" "Yes, but then, he favours the other Slytherins too." "Do you think he favours Mr. Malfoy even more than the other Slytherins, Miss Granger?" She hesitated as she said, "Well. . .I suppose so. . .but . . .well, I don't really notice things like that." "No. Well, any other questions?" An observer rose. "Would you say that Professor Snape liked Mr. Malfoy more that Mr. Malfoy liked Professor Snape?" She stared a little, before working out what the man was asking. She fiddled with her hair unconsciously as her brow furrowed in search of an answer. "I think. . .I'm not sure, I don't really know, but I think that Malfoy likes Professor Snape more than Professor Snape likes him." "Thank you." The watcher sat, and another rose. "Do you like Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger?" She blushed and admitted, "No, not really." "I see," continued the observer. "And Professor Snape? What about him?" "Well. . .I don't really like him much either." "So you don't like either Professor Snape or Draco Malfoy, is that right?" "Yes, that's right. " "So you might be a little biased, shall we say, against them?" "Maybe, though I try not to be. " "Though it's possible?" "I suppose. . ." she said doubtfully. "Thank you, that is all," the man sat down. The judge looked round. "Is that all? Does anyone want to ask the speakers or Professor Snape or, indeed, Draco Malfoy, any further questions? No? Good. In that case, the jury shall be dismissed and we shall all reassemble here. . ." the judge checked his watch. It was getting a little late, ". . . tomorrow noon. Court rise! Dismissed!" The courtroom filled out and was emptied. Snape was led back to the cells. Everyone returned to their homes, or school, in some cases. Peace was restored in the cold, dark room, the flickering torches extinguished.  
  
~ * ~  
  
The next day at noon, the courtroom was full again, as full with noise as it was with people. Snape was returned to the chair, guarded on both sides by the towering, dark figures of the dementors. The judge called for silence, and after a minute or two of subdued mumblings, he got it. "Are we all present? Good. In that case, has the jury reached an agreement?" The jury speaker rose and assented that yes, they had. "On charge for the murder of Lucius Malfoy, we find Professor Severus Snape, Guilty. On charge of the rape of Draco Malfoy, we find Professor Severus Snape, Guilty. " All hell broke lose in the court, and it took the judge quite a while to quieten the noise. "In all my time as a judge, I have not been met with such a case as this. Quite extraordinary. In view of the jury's decision, Professor Snape is to receive fifteen years imprisonment in Azkaban for the murder of Lucius Malfoy, and another ten years imprisonment in Azkaban for the rape of Draco Malfoy. " There was, as to be expected, mixed reactions to this ruling, though the general mood was for celebration.  
  
The noise in the courtroom, left him cold. He accepted his fate, not surprised, but heavy with resignation that this was what would happen. He made it to the dark, foreboding passage entrance to the cells, then turned, scanning the crowd for Draco. He found him, staring in Dumbledore's direction, a defiant look on his face. In turn, Dumbledore was staring thoughtfully into space. "Draco," said Snape, his voice not quite his own, "you told me you loved me. You told me many times, but I never replied. But that doesn't mean I don't." He was vaguely aware of the noise in the chamber dying, but paid no heed. He turned, not waiting for an answer, and with a swish of black material, he was gone, gone to his doom, never to return to see the light of day for twenty five years. Draco looked at the empty doorway. Stared. His head span. . .he had been such an idiot. What had he done? He cared after all. . . "No. . ." he whispered. "No!" his voice getting louder. The room stared at him. He didn't care. "NOOOOOO!" he screamed at the doorway, in sheer frustration, the realisation of his loss. . . and it was all his fault. But now he was gone. It was too late for forgiveness now. Too late. 


	37. Well, Well, Well

Chapter 37  
  
  
  
Wow, I'm moving again!* bounces * Thanks to everyone for the reviews. . .Ambrosius, Blonde Ditz, Sleepy Tee. . .and those to come, hopefully! Dido seemed appropriate for Draco here. . .  
  
Staring at the same four walls, have you tried to help yourself? The rings around your eyes don't hide that you need to get some rest  
  
~ Slide, Dido. ~  
  
Hate. Oh, and Pity.  
  
What happened to him after Snape had. . .made his announcement. . .Draco could barely remember. He vaguely recollected being hauled out of the room by his mother, and immediately taken home, where he was duly lectured and shouted at. The words had made no impression on him, and nor had his angry mother's face. Somewhere in his mind, he swam in a dream, a lake of jumbled thoughts, trying to comprehend what Snape had said. . ."Draco, you told me you loved me. You told me many times, but I never replied. But that doesn't mean I don't." So that meant he did, surely? Surely. Crack! His mother's hand sliced across his face sharply, leaving a stinging pain. "Draco! Listen to me, you bastard. . ." "Yes mother," he murmured, sitting up in his chair. They were in Lucius's study. Draco's study. She'd hit him? That had never happened before. . .wouldn't have either, if Lucius was still alive. . .his cheek stung. "Seneca's coming round. You are to tell her everything. EVERYTHING," she snapped, and turned, leaving the room, taking her noise and aura with her in a rustle of cobalt silk. In the silence left, Draco stirred himself. Seneca. From all of his mother's friends, hers was the only name that stood out. Seneca. Tall, dark, hypnotic. . . blue eyes, her long raven black hair. . . Draco shivered. Her liquid manner, and her easy liquidation of thoughts. She scared him more than anything he had ever come across. Why did his mother want him to talk to her? he thought dumbly. He didn't need to search for the answer - it was close at hand in his mind. Because she could change his mind. The confusion and emptiness, not to mention the guilt, left him in an onslaught of single emotion. Hatred. Of his mother, of her friends, and of himself. Of the jurors. Of the judge, of Snape for not telling him. . . But no. Not even Snape any more. For him Draco felt no hatred, but burning desire mingled with leaden guilt, weighing him down. He looked again at the portrait that hung on the wall opposite, as he had been doing for the hour or so, mindlessly studying the empty frame. The portrait's occupant had been absent for many years. Apparently, according to the story his father had told him, she had fled on the night of his engagement to Narcissa. . . he had told him this, and they had laughed, joking that it was an omen. Draco sighed. He felt ridiculously old. He stood up at last and moved lethargically to the door and left the room, closing the door firmly but quietly behind him. A face peeped fearfully into the frame of the picture, red eyed and worried.  
  
  
  
Out in the hall, Draco walked calmly down towards the living room where he knew his mother would receive Seneca. On a whim, he stooped outside the door, and pricked his ears. Inside, he heard his mother's voice, mid welcome. ". . .I know it's such an inconvenience, Seneca, dear, but you have heard about the boy's outburst at the inquest?" "Yes, of course," answered the honey tone that could only belong to Seneca.  
  
"Nightmare, an absolute nightmare. . .he won't listen to me. I want you to talk to him, and tell him not to think of it. You did the jurors?" There was soft laughter from the other woman. "Of course I did the jurors. There's no way in hell he would have been taken down with the evidence. .. not to mention Dumbledore's interference. I did it well, I'm sure you'll agree." "Yes, wonderfully well. And now I want you to do the same on Draco. I can't have him going around under what ever spell Snape. . .Severus, sorry, put him under. Any idea what it was, by the way?" "I have not, and will not, consider it," Seneca replied, her voice icy. "Of course," Narcissa said, hurrying to make amends. "I just wondered, seeing as your. . . skills. . . are so much more than mine. . ." "Quite. The price for the boy's mind being fixed will be high. I dislike doing this sort of thing on children." The words struck him harder than a curse. He tuned out of the conversation as it turned to money. . four figured amounts of money at that. The mild indignation he felt for her referral to him as a 'child' was drowned out by the deep seated horror of the thought of his mind being 'fixed'. How? Why did she dislike doing it only 'children'? Would it damage him? His mother's train of thought was obviously running along the same lines, as she asked next, "Why do you dislike doing this kind of thing on children, if you don't mind my asking?" Her tone was light, and she ended the question with her high- pitched falsetto laugh. She fooled no-one as to her concern. Seneca's reply was cool and unemotional. "The process is fairly uncomplicated in itself; merely a matter of taking enough blood to leave the subject bordering unconscious, and then implying through words or actions what ever needs to be said or done. Subliminal adjustments take place and the body generates more blood, thus the subject recovers. He or she remembers nothing of it, other than dizziness and perhaps my presence, but nothing more. Unfortunately, with children as young as the boy, the body generates blood much more quickly than it does with adults, therefore allowing them to come out of the semi-dazed state needed much more quickly. Time is essential. When I first started, I did a boy of about Draco's age. He came out of the trance too early and ended up in a state much like the state of a Dementor, the only difference being was that he had a soul, but no mind. Dementors, on the other hand, have minds but no souls. " Draco felt the rising panic inside him and tried his best to concentrate on taking deep, calming breaths, and listening intently to the conversation in hand. His mother must have nodded, as Seneca spoke next. Draco somehow doubted that his mother had actually understood any of Seneca's explanation, but. . . and then, suddenly, Draco's mind crashed. What had she said? What had it been? " . . . merely a matter of taking enough blood to leave the subject bordering unconscious. . ." Taking blood. Blood. Conclusions and accusations leapt into his mind. Seneca was a vampire! He stopped and forced himself not to bolt from the Manor there and then, and make it back up to the school. His heart pounded and his head spun. My gods. . . "Right. I'll get the agreed amount tomorrow from Gringrott's. . .meanwhile, when can you . . . a-ha. . . 'fix' Draco?" "Whenever you like. Preferably after a few days. If you under feed the boy, it makes my life easier." "As you wish. Call in on, say, Thursday, and we'll do it then?" "I will do it then," Seneca corrected coldly. "Yes, that's fine. I will be here for nine-thirty." "Splendid. I say, it is rather late now, isn't it? Would you like a room for the night?" Business completed, Narcissa's hardened tones fell back into their customary affected politeness. "Yes, thank you, I think I will." "Oh good. I'll call a house-elf to arrange it all for you. . ." Draco's eyes widened in horror as he saw the door handle start to turn, and he bolted half way down the hall, to the safety of study. He made it as far as opening the study door, when his mother emerged from the living room. "Draco, where are you going?" she asked sharply. "To the study, mother. I want to take a look at the accounts before I go to bed," he lied. Her face relaxed into a smile "Very well, dear. Just like your father, always on top of things. . ." and with that, disappeared from view round the corner to fetch an elf. Why she didn't just ring the bell, Draco didn't know, Probably that she didn't like Seneca's disturbing company more than anyone else did. He slipped into the safe recess of the study, understanding for the first time, what his father had meant by it being the most useful room in the house. He could make perfectly acceptable excuses to come in here, such as to 'look over the accounts' as Narcissa had as much knowledge of the running of a house as the average clergy man does on running a brothel. Not much. Hers was not a mathematical mind.  
  
He sank back into the leather chair behind the desk in relief. He pulled the accounts book out for show, and left it open on the desk. His eyes returned to their former occupation of staring at the empty portrait frame while his mind wandered to what to do next. He had a vampire in his house, a vampire who his mother was paying good money to brainwash him. He had managed to assure Snape 25 years' imprisonment. He doubted that Dumbledore would help, seeing as it was he who had put him there in the first place. . .wasn't it? Mother had said something about the jurors. . .and Seneca. She had probably paid to have it 'fixed' so that the jury would send Snape down, whatever happened. He sighed.  
  
~ * ~  
  
Hermione crept from her dorm down to the Owlery. She shivered to herself, and reached out to the wall to guide her, her other hand occupied with an envelope adorned with her own rather small handwriting. She shivered again, and slipped into the dark Owlery with its feathery dwellers. She squinted up at the rafters where the owls perched. Only three there. They must be out enjoying the night, she thought. Spotting her, one of the remaining owls, a rather plump brown one which had the distinct look of a chicken about it, glided down to perch near her. Hermione smiled at the owl, relieved. "Thank you," she whispered, tying the letter to the owl's outstretched leg. "I want this to get to Malfoy Manor quickly. . .take it straight to Draco, the boy. Don't let anyone see you!" The owl Looked at her, in as much of a suggestive way as possible with a beak. Hermione scowled. "No, nothing like That!" she hissed. "It's something quite different!" her indignation made no effect on the owl, who merely ruffled her feathers knowingly. Hermione sighed in exasperation. "For heavens sake! Draco Malfoy is the most annoying boy I have ever met! He is arrogant, pigheaded, cold hearted. . ." The owl gave her another Look which seemed to say "Oh, really? And you like that in a man?" Hermione gave in and sighed "I'm only doing this because I feel sorry for him, NOT because I love him! And why I have to explain it to you, I don't know," and turned heel. The owl hooted amusedly, and took off, gliding silently into the still night. Hermione watched her go in relief. Really, she though later in bed, thinking that I had any feelings for Draco Malfoy other than hate. Hate. Oh, and pity. 


	38. Blood on the Wall

Chapter 38.  
  
Two things before anything - I have a new fic, as does Hanakin! Hanakin's first Harry Potter fic, I do believe. . .go see. My new one is finally something I'm actually quite proud of, despite the numerous typos and grammatical errors that plague it. * G * Ahhh. Back to living off reviews. I am obsessed. It's not good * hangs head in shame * ^_^ Thanks to all, esp. Priestess of Avalon (^_^), Ambrosius and Blonde Ditz. My last chapter wasn't completely beta-d because I only sent my beta half the chapter by mistake, and I am too lazy to make her do the next bit too. Lazy is my life. This is short. . . Alysun.  
  
Blood on the Wall.  
  
Snape sat in his dark, dank cell, the filthy smell infiltrating his over large nose unpleasantly. Sparse sunlight shone half heartedly through the iron bars high up in the cell, offering no warmth, no comfort. Outside the noise of the dementors could be heard, robes brushing along the floor, the sucking breath that yearned wordlessly for happy thoughts to devour and demolish. The grey depression set against the black thoughts lead to a colourless landscape, twisting the mind. The occasional screams of a desperate inmate shattered the solitary silence of the dark world that was Azkaban. He sat on the hard narrow bench that severed as a bed, leaning against the grimy wall. His eyes were closed, his face lined with thought and pain. He saw, smelt, heard nothing of his surroundings, lost in the despair and pain of his past. . . he did not, and would not scream and beg for release as the other prisoners did so shamelessly. He knew he deserved it. . .if not for the crimes he was placed there for, but for the ruthless torturing, the heartless murders, the merciless condemning of innocent lives. His Death Eater days. The thoughts of the dead muggles, the dismembered half bloods, the mutilated muggle lovers scourged his mind, their screams of horror, their blind terror echoing in his ears now as he had not let them do then. The darkness that reclined in his mind entertained other memories too. They showed no chronological order, but was wildly spasmodic - one half hour of his misspent youth, standing in his father's study being berated and cursed, the next three hours turning over the most recent memories of the court case, the embarrassment and humiliation it had caused him.  
  
***  
  
"Crucio," he heard his voice snarl out, sneering at the whimpering wreck that had once been a ministry official. The fire that burned inside him, that let him do this and then sleep peacefully at night was his hate at the world. As he watched the defenceless man crumble to the floor, tears streaming down his face in torrents, he thought of his days at Hogwarts where he had been laughed at, picked on to unbelievable extremes. Within the recesses of his mind, the face of the sobbing man was replaced by Potter's, and Snape's cruel smirk grew.  
  
*** In his father's study again. This time, he was having his endurance tested; his pain endurance. The cold eyes of Cydas Snape were mirrored by those of his son's, with one difference. "Severus, how old are you?" The question was disapproving. "Seven, sir," He hung his head shamefully. "Seven. Seven, and you still can't take the Cructius curse. Seven. You call yourself my son? YOU call yourself MY son? And at SEVEN you can't take it like a man, can't take it without these silly tears. You may as well be a girl for all the good you are to me." The voice was disgusted and sneering, making him feel smaller than the smallest house elf, and twice as stupid. Cydas took up his wand. "Now we shall try again. And you shall not utter a word, nor shed a tear. We will be here until you can do this. Crucio"  
  
*** Sitting in front of the fire in his bedroom at Hogwarts with Lucius who, for what must have been the first time in his life, looked distinctly uncomfortable. Severus had noticed this immediately - but then, it was hard not to. His grey eyes wouldn't hold his, and he hid behind a disguise of damnable formality. Something was wrong. On this account, Severus had suggested they sat by the fire and talked for a while. . . Small talk ensued, and then Lucius finally told him what was wrong. "Severus. . .last night. I. . .I slept with Narcissa." It was possibly the biggest insult of all, Narcissa, neurotic, whining Narcissa over himself. He felt his temper rise, and made no attempt to stop it. "You What?!"  
  
***  
  
"I received the letter about father late at night. I can't remember the time exactly, but it was late. I was upset, and wanted to be alone, so I told my friends to leave me alone for a while. After about half an hour, I decided to go to Professor Snape, as he is our head of house. . .well, I got there and went in to see that he was also upset at the news, but was very nice to me, and comforted me. He took through out of his office into his bedroom. . .and. . .and raped me. I tried to stop him, but. . ." he hung his head for the watching crowd, and forced tears. "but he wouldn't"  
  
***  
  
Waking up to find himself bound hand and foot once again to the strange, four poster bed, unable to move at all. Voldemort would come in son, this he knew. He didn't struggle, he knew it was pointless to try. The lighted sconce gave out minimal light that danced on the sharpened blades of the spiked instruments that adorned the walls. The door slid noiselessly open, admitting Voldemort, his mouth curved in a mockery of a smile. "Severus," the cold voice seeped out to him, affecting him like physical pain, making him flinch. His discomfort amused the pale spectre that stood at the end of the bed. It gave a low chuckle before saying anything. "Hmm. . . ". Blood red eyes scanned the rows of bondage implements that filled the room. The rested on what looked like the most innocent of the lot. A bucket of ice, enchanted never to melt, a cigar case and lighter. Voldemort picked up the case and casually lit the cigar. "As much as I dislike the blithering fools," he said "there is a certain air of ingenuity about this muggle idea. The idea is simple enough. Ice to cool the skin, the cigar to burn. . .it is something I am particularly fond of, though I save it for. . .special. . .occasions." He let out another low chuckle as Snape's eyes watched the burning cigar warily. With another cold smile, Voldemort sat down on the bed, near Snape's prostrate figure. As he made his preparations, he talked lazily, almost carelessly. "It's a very old idea; hot and cold torture." Casually, he summoned the casket of ice to him, and knocked the ash of the cigar onto the floor. "There are a few very dark potions that make use of it, I'm sure you know." He took up a single cube of ice from the casket and turned it over in his long agile fingers. Ceremoniously, he placed the cube on Snape's bare abdomen, and held it there, pressing it into his skin until the cold was more than he could bear. Carefully, Voldemort lowed the cigar until near the cube, and removed the ice. "It is highly efficient - very good for getting what you want. And I always get what I want." Leisurely, he replaced the cold with unbearable burning heat that made Severus catch his breath and look away. The pain! The fiery, domineering, hateful pain. . .his hands were balled into tight fists, though his face was carefully blank other than a furrowed brow. Seeing this, Voldemort's smile grew into a sadistic smirk, The cigar was removed, and Snape's tense figure relaxed, but only slightly. Deftly, Voldemort shed his robes and picked up another piece of ice. Setting the now extinguished cigar in the frozen casket, he replaced the ice onto the freshly made burn mark, thriving on the gasp of pain that his prisoner let out. "But then, you will know this by now, won't you. . ."  
  
***  
  
With the last memory the sheer hell of that night alone in the darkened room with his "master", he tightened his positioned, hugging his knees close to him, biting his bottom lip to stop the tears. From the years he had spent pointedly not thinking of it, the defences and blockades he had put up in his mind against the memories crumbled into nothing, letting wave after wave of painful, damning memories rush into his head. Each one was crystal clear, each scream, every tear, every word marked, every face with a name and a sin to follow it. Alone in his cell, Severus Snape hunched his shoulders and lowered his head, unconsciously trying to hide from the world, wishing upon himself a thousand deaths. Somewhere a winged recollection broke through, and flittered up into the present hell he was experiencing. In the dull surroundings of his bedroom, holding Mike close to him, his father entered. One the visage of Severus, his only son, in the arms of another boy, a burst of sheer, uncontrollable hate in guise of a spell was released from Cydas's wand, which was pointed at the boy held in Severus's embrace. A thundering curse accompanied it, and Mike was thrown against the far wall, knocking his head on the stone. He slid down to the floor unconscious, leaving a trail of sticky red blood on the wall. Draco had called after him! He had seen his mistake! Blindly, the thought was knocked away, sucked away by the dementors before he could realise what it meant. He stared at the fallen body in his room, not hearing the heated words that his father was throwing at him. Blood on the wall. Mike's blood on the wall, staining the wall paper. What had kept him going so long? He thought bitterly to himself. Why not just kill myself and have done with it all. . .who would have missed him, other than maybe Lucius? And even he would have forgotten him in time, he always had Narcissa to turn to. . . Blood on the wall. 


	39. Voldemort and Snape

Chapter 39. 

. . .* cowers* Gwendolyn scared me into writing more. . .* whimper* 

^^ Thanks for all reviews, and congrats go to Max Tanrego for a) wading through 38 chapters and b) managing to give me possibly the weirdest review yet. * g *. Sorry for being so inconsistent on updating! Alysun

__

Handy dandy beta reader note: _This chapter r0xx0rz. ^_^_

Voldemort and Snape.

The next morning, Hermione walked down to breakfast with Harry and Ron, as usual. 

The school had been decidedly subdued after the scandal but was slowly returning to normal. Dumbledore had appointed a very able Potions teacher to replace Snape - a tall, brown haired blue eyed man in his late thirties, or so Hermione guessed. He was an able Professor, and a Ravenclaw to boot. Not to mention rather attractive. . .All in all, Professor Kinson was a very satisfactory replacement in the eyes of all but the Slytherins'. Since Snape had left, the house points had been dropping notably, to the point where they were rivalling the Hufflepuffs for bottom place. They were all constantly on edge, always close to losing their tempers. As yet, they had no new head of house, as any replacements that had tried their luck had resigned from the post within a day or two. The responsibility currently fell to Dumbledore, giving him yet another thing to worry about. 

The rest of the school seemed to have recovered well enough, almost forgetting that Snape had ever been there at all. Potions lessons were no longer in the dungeons, but on the mostly empty fourth floor, thus making the classrooms brighter and more cheerful. There seemed, however, a universal feeling of superiority over the Slytherins. For once, roles had been reversed, and a first year Hufflepuff had been seen openly insulting a fifth year Slytherin. The first year was naturally beaten to a pulp, but the fact that it had happened in the first place. . .

Hermione shrugged. It would all work out in the end, it always did. 

"What's up, Hermione?" asked Ron, breaking into her thoughts. 

She smiled at him and replied, "Oh, nothing. Just wondering if I did all of Professor Vector's homework last night. I think I might have missed out question 15. . ." she made a worried frown appear on her brow, and noted the exchange of looks between Harry and Ron. Well, at least they wouldn't ask anything else. She hated lying to them, but she could hardly tell them what she did last night. 

She could hardly believe it herself. 

Draco Malfoy, Slytherin's main man, had accepted the proffered hand of help from Hermione Granger, Gryffindor's biggest book fan. It didn't seem right somehow, even though she had been the one to start it all off. 

What should she do next? Write to Malfoy and ask what was wrong? It seemed a bit pointless to do that, really. Like asking a dying man if he was going to be okay. Maybe she should wait for him to write to her again? But then it might look like she had written it as a joke, which wasn't good. 

The post came. 

Instinctively, everyone looked up as the hall filled up with the feathered messengers. Hermione looked up also, watching the crowds lazily, her mind elsewhere. By chance she looked down the table to see a handsome tawny owl staring straight at her. On its leg, there was a note, firmly tied. 

For her? Maybe. 

She got up with out a word to either Harry or Ron, and hurried down to the owl to investigate further.

Ron and Harry looked at each other. 

"What's bitten her?"

"Damned if I know. You gonna eat the piece of toast? 'Coz I'll have it if you ain't."

"Hey! This toast is mine, alll mine. . ." Harry grinned, pulling his plate closer towards him protectively, making Ron laugh. 

Hermione hurried down the table, pushing past people where needed until she reached the owl, who blinked calmly at her, and after a moment, stuck out its leg for her to untie the note. Hermione smiled to herself, relieved. She looked up at the owl, only to find it gone. Curious, she scanned the rafters of the Great Hall, trying to spot the bird, unsuccessfully. Typical Malfoy, she sighed to herself, and tucked the note into her robe pocket. She would read it somewhere more private. 

The day passed uneventfully for the best part of the morning - Herbology (Greenhouse 7 again. They were having to try and come up with ways to keep the plants at a constant temperature for a project. Having completed it in the first two weeks, Hermione was now exceedingly bored), Transfiguration (which was, of course, immensely interesting. McGonagall remained Hermione's favourite teacher) and Care of Magical Creatures (Hagrid had finally struck a happy medium between monsters and boredom. His lessons were getting better every time they went, which was just as well really). 

The lunch hour came around, and everyone filed down into the Great Hall once again to partake in food. Making excuses of homework, Hermione ate as fast as she could, and departed to the library, where she hid herself in a forgotten corner with the "Muggle Poetry from the 17th century" books. 

Eagerly, she retrieved the letter from her pocket, and ripped open the envelope as quietly as possible, so as not to alert the dreaded librarian, Madam Pince. Laying the envelope on the shelf beside her, she unfolded the parchment and read the letter. 

Hermione Granger, 

I am going to have to trust you not to tell Potter or Weasley of our correspondence. You are right, I need help; quickly. 

From the trial, you know that Snape and I. . .well. We love each other. I am acutely aware of how pretentious and stupid it sounds, but it's true. I fought hard alongside my mother to get him put in Azkaban - and now realise I must fight much, much harder to get him out again. I know what Dumbledore and the rest of the school must think of me, which is why I have been reduced to this desperate last resort. I will now try and explain to you the biggest and foremost problem that I face. 

When my mother and I got home after the trial, mother was very . . .angry about my outburst. She went to the extreme of calling in one of her friends, Seneca. 

I found out last night that Seneca is a vampire. My mother paid her to 'fix' the jurors' minds into thinking that Snape should be charged guilty with both murder and rape. Apparently, she does this by drinking someone's blood until they're almost out, and then telling them what she wants them to think. 

Last night, my mother asked Seneca to do the same thing to me, wanting her to 'fix' my mind into not loving Snape. Seneca agreed to and is currently staying at the Manor waiting for an opportunity to get at me. I don't dare go up to the library and research any methods of protection, it would be a little obvious. The most I can do is to surround myself by wooden things - garlic would be very obvious and there isn't a bible or cross in the house. I can't get her into the sunlight either, seeing as she has "a rare skin disease that makes her react with sunlight". And funnily enough, St. Mungo's can't do anything about it. . .

I have to get out of the house - by Thursday, which is tomorrow. Do you have any ideas? I have exhausted any plans of mine, failing riding off on one of our winged horses. 

Do not tell anyone of this, not even the teachers or Dumbledore. Especially not Dumbledore.

Please write back quickly, 

Draco Malfoy. 

Hermione read the urgent letter with wide eyes. It's so bizarre it has to be true, she thought to herself. She slipped the letter back into her pocket and unobtrusively made her way to the section on vampires. Taking down a few relevant looking volumes, she sat and flicked through them, searching for alternative means of destroying them. 

As she did, her mind ran through all the things that she could do to help, the first and foremost on her mind to tell a teacher. But he had specifically said not to. She sighed. What could she do? Even if he could get out, where was he to go afterwards? It wasn't like she had any wizarding family who could look after him, and even if she did, she doubted that they'd want to. He could hardly go back to Hogwarts without anyone noticing. Maybe if she could stow him away somewhere in the castle? She stopped in her search in the current book, and looked up, eyes alight with excitement. She could! There were plenty of unused rooms here now. . .the dungeons! She doubted that Malfoy would thank her for putting him down in the dungeons, but that was tough as far as he was concerned. Nobody ever went down there any more, not even Filch or Mrs. Norris. She would have to transfigure a few essential things, but it was alright as it was. . .

How could Malfoy get out of the Manor without anyone noticing? He was right, a winged horse was more than slightly noticeable. Maybe. . .maybe if he got out of the Manor at night say, and then caught the Night Bus? In disguise, of course . . .and she could meet him at the school gates, and then. . .yes, they could use Harry's cloak! And the map. . .of course, that meant he would know about them, but she wouldn't have to explain where she got them from. She would make a sleeping draught for Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville to make sure that they wouldn't wake up in the middle of it all. 

The idea of so breaking so many rules all at once made her feel slightly ill, but then, she assured herself, it was for a good cause. 

Taking this to heart, Hermione returned the books, deciding that Draco would have to go tonight, so there wasn't really any need for them. She left the library and half ran, half walked up to the Gryffindor Tower, and hid herself in her dorm with a quill and a fresh sheet of parchment. 

She jotted down a letter that outlined her plan, but carefully left out where she was going to stow him away. She made her way down to the Owlery, and sent her letter to Malfoy by means of a rather haughty looking barn owl. 

She retired back into the tower, and realised that she had left herself fifteen minutes in which to do three pages of Charms homework. 

~~

Draco had woken up early that morning - six o'clock. Meaning that he had had only three hours' sleep. He looked into the mirror. It showed. 

He yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. HHHe padded into his bathroom, and took a cold shower, which woke him up sufficiently to start thinking about his current predicament. The next day was Thursday, when Seneca would be planning to 'fix' him. He shivered from something other than cold as he slowly towelled himself dry. He was to be underfed, to make it easier for Seneca. . .so. . .a thought struck him, and he grinned savagely.

Throwing his black, silk dressing gown round himself, he quietly padded across his bedroom floor, and out onto the landing, looking around all the time for anyone else who might be up at this ridiculously early hour. Eventually, he reached the already busy kitchens on the ground floor. He entered the huge, noisy room silently, clicking the door shut behind him. In the noise of the plates being washed, the boiling pans and uncouth shouts of the house-elves, Draco felt strangely empty, apart and deserted from both his family and his kind. Each and everyone of these ugly slaves had friends. . .they had a hidden community in their overbearing master's house. . . and he? He, Draco, the overbearing master? He had nothing. 

He let his eyes follow a particularly hideous specimen hum happily as he trotted across the cavernous room, his arms full of plates. A female of the species dashed past him, sparing him a broad smile as she passed. The plate laden elf blushed violently and tripped over his own feet. A precarious few seconds past as he frantically tried to rebalance the plates, before they fell smashing onto the tiled floor. The female laughed, and left her post to help him clear the mess. 

Draco watched the scene. The simple, meaningless scene that burned through his eyes and set fire to his very soul. What he would have paid to be that elf, so uncomplicated, so innocent of everything. . .Draco's face contorted in insane jealousy and he turned and swept from the room, a swirl of black silk. He strode down the passageways, anger and jealousy surging through him. 

By the time he had made it back to his bedroom, the fury had burnt out into the hollow feeling of despair. He collapsed on the floor at the end of his bed, choking back tears. _Gods, why is it so damn hard? Everything, so hard. . .why should some stupid elf make me feel this way? Why am I crying? Fuck it all, why the hell am I crying?! I never cry! I have to stop this. . .I have to stop it. . . stop, must stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. . ._ The word repeated itself over and over in his head, losing all its meaning but started to become steadily more soothing, calming his wretched thoughts for one moment at least. 

His mind cleared slowly, and his fists unclenched themselves. He uncurled himself from the floor, and unsteadily made his way over to his roll top writing desk.

Pulling the lid down, he methodically pulled out a sheet of parchment and a quill, carefully not thinking of anything. He dipped the quill in the ink well, and began to write. Each letter formed slowly, and gradually, the letter unfolded. Without even re-reading it, he folded it into an envelope and departed for the Manor's Owlery. He sent the letter on its way with one of the lesser-used messenger owls, and returned once again to his room. 

He laid back on his bed and slept. 

~~

When he woke again it was midday, judging by the sunlight that stream through his parted curtains. It was late spring now, almost summer, but the jubilant mood of the weather was not as infectious as it had been in previous years. Draco turned his eyes away from the window and rolled himself out of his bed for the second time that day. He stretched, and pulled on his clothes distractedly. 

Had Granger got the letter he had sent her earlier? Did she have any, _any_ ideas? He was getting desperate. . .he checked his watch - 12:30. He had about 24 hours to get out of the Manor and get himself hidden away in some unknown place. . .

He frowned and massaged his temples. He had a thumping headache, which did nothing to improve his mood. Glancing around his room one last time, he left it and wandered out into the hall. As far as he could see, no-one was up yet. . .Seneca was obviously asleep somewhere, and his mother was most likely to be shopping, (still) getting dressed or criticising the house-elves. Shrugging the thoughts from his mind, he made his way up to the library. It seemed like a good place to be, quiet and deserted, a peaceful atmosphere in which he could think more clearly. He was too late to catch breakfast and too early for lunch, he would just have to wait for half an hour. . .his stomach rumbled and he caught himself wishing that he had eaten earlier, as he had planned. 

He glowered and pushed open the library door. He waved his wand briefly and the torches that lined the wall lit with a fire that wouldn't burn paper. Another of his father's many ingenious ideas. The door shut with a satisfying click. He walked down the familiar aisles, letting the magic that belonged to all libraries wash over him, losing himself in the numberless hundreds of books that surrounded him, selling his soul to the billions of words that were filed away, windows to universes that belonged to the reader, to him. He sighed happily, letting the peaceful silence wash over him. 

"My, my Draco, we are happy today. . ." a dark, amused voice mocked him, snapping him out of his peaceful frame of mind, back into his prior deep, brooding state. He could have hit himself - the library had no windows, which was why it had to be lit with wall torches - the perfect place for a hiding vampire. It took him all he had to stop himself from glowering as he turned to see the tall elegant figure of Seneca that stood behind him. 

"Not really, I'm afraid. How are you?" His tone was sharp and rather clipped, but he didn't care. 

"Wonderful, thank you. What are you looking for?" she asked, innocently enough, but maybe it was Draco's mind that heard the suggestive undertones. . .mentally, he shook himself clear of his worries and answered. 

"Nothing really. You?" he asked, wanting to catch her out.

She smiled serenely and said "Sadomachoism. Such an interesting subject, don't you think?"

Draco raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I'm too young to know about such things, surely?"

She laughed quietly, and murmured softly, yet bitingly, "Of, oh course. . .just wondering whether you took after your father, that's all."

Draco's face darkened at the mocking mention of his father, and he strained every muscle in his body not to pummel the calm, vaguely jeering face of the woman that stood in front of him. Instead, he nodded curtly and said, "Of course. I had better go now, things to do. Goodbye, Seneca."

"Bye bye, Draco, dear. . ."she uttered and moved away through the tall bookshelves, losing herself in the books. Draco scowled after her and turned sharply to leave, his private salvation lost to a petty bitch of a vampire. 

He stood out side the door wondering what to do next. He decided that he would go and hide from the world at large in his study, and disappeared down the staircase. 

Seneca watched him through the peephole in the wall, and smiled. Not long until she would be ready to correct his mind for Narcissa. At least, for Narcissa's money. . .her smile broadened, and she went back to her temporary resting place within the library. 

Malfoy reached the study and pushed open the door. He fell onto the chair behind the desk and slumped there, bored already. He looked at the slightly disordered mess on the desk and straightened it out until it met his high standards of neatness. A letter had fallen face down onto the desk from the letter rack when he had moved it. Uninterested, Draco picked it up and turned it over to try and recognise the handwriting. Small and neat. His heart missed a pace in his sudden rush of excitement and he ripped open the letter, discarded the envelope and pulled out the sheet of parchment. 

He scanned through it and Hermione's plan became clear to him. To escape the Manor at night, catch the night bus to Hogsmede, get to the gates of Hogwarts. . .where she would collect him and take him to a "safe place" she knew of. He could stay there for a while at least. . .

Deep in thought, Draco folded the letter and put it in his pocket. How was he going to get out of the Manor without his mother or Seneca knowing? . . .he could use Flo Powder. . . in mounting excitement, he planned to use one of the fireplaces in the Manor to travel to Hogsmeade. . .or even directly into the castle! Frowning he considered the last possibility. . .was it actually possible to use the fireplaces in the castle to travel by? Probably not. He would have to make do with the fireplace in the Three Broomsticks, he knew for certain that that was linked up to the Flo network. But then, that would mean having to go in disguise as someone was bound to recognise him. Maybe he would just take on of his fathers cloaks and hid his face with the hood. Yes, that was the best plan. . .

He scrawled yet another note to Granger, explaining what he intended to do, and saying that he would meet up with her outside that school gates at one in the morning. No-one would be around then, surely. He hoped so, anyway. He signed the note and heard the gong ring for lunch. He ate, sent the note and set his plans. . .

~~

Many miles away, hidden in a deserted mine, Wormtail whimpered pathetically at the feet of his master. 

"Snape is where, Wormtail?" Voldemort hissed out, seething with barely compressed rage. 

"Az-az-Azkaban, my lord. . ." stuttered Wormtail, and cowered on the filthy floor. Voldemort himself sat behind a desk on a comfortable chair that had been transfigured out of the stones that scattered the ground. The hollowed out cave was lined with wall torches and supported by magic to ensure that it would not collapse.   
"Tell me why he is in Azkaban, Wormtail," Voldemort said coldly, his voice as merciless as ever, possibly even more so now. 

"For. . .formurderingLuciusMalfoyandrapinghisson," gasped Wormtail in a single breath and cowered again, waiting for a curse of some description. 

"For murdering Lucius Malfoy. . .now that, I find hard to believe. I also find it difficult to conceive Severus doing something as undignified as raping Malfoy's son, especially after my time with him. . ."Voldemort allowed him self a restricted, thin lipped smile. Wormtail whimpered again. He had heard the screams from Voldemort's time with Severus. They had been short-lived, cut off by Snape's pride, but full of pain.

"Anyway. Where is Draco Malfoy now, Wormtail?" 

"At the Ma-Malfoy Man-nor, my lord," Wormtail murmured, hugging himself, still anticipating the shrill sharp pain of the Cruciatus Curse. Hardly a day went by without him suffering it.

"At Ma-Malfoy Man-nor," Voldemort mimicked cruelly. "You are pathetic, you know that, Wormtail?"

"Yes, my lord," moaned Wormtail, and rocked himself quietly on the floor. 

"Truly pathetic," sneered Voldemort, his red eyes glittered harshly in the flickering torchlight. "I want a new servant, Wormtail, someone with more spirit in them than you. Where's the fun in torture if there is no spirit to break? You bore me, Wormtail. You bore me to tears. I want a new servant. Draco Malfoy fits the bill nicely, don't you think?" 

"Yes, my lord," squeaked Wormtail, terrified of what his master was proposing. If he wanted a new servant, then he, Wormtail would have to move on. He would have to die. Tears threatened him as his master dismissed him to go to the Manor and tell Narcissa of his intentions for his son. 

Voldemort watched him go and a cold smile played on his face. 

So terrified of death. . .Draco would be a pleasant change. Lucius Malfoy had trained his son well, or so he had been told. He would serve him faithfully. Faithfully and efficiently. It was a pity about Snape, but he had been a traitor anyway. . .and if Draco needed any persuading in joining him in his dark plans, they could always use Snape as . . .a-ha. . .a means of persuasion. Join us and get your revenge on your rapist and the murderer of your father. Or die. Yes, that was a nice proposition. . . Voldemort sat back in his chair and plotted darkly in his hidden recluse. 

~~

Hermione got Draco's letter and approved. Much safer than her idea. She wrote back and the plan was solidified, for now. When her classes had ended, she had made sure that Harry's dormitory was empty and sneaked in. After picking the lock on his suitcase, she took out the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauders Map. Her heart beating uncomfortably fast, she re-locked the case, hurried back into her dorm and shoved the cloak and map out of sight, in her own suitcase. There. All set. Her brow creased worriedly and she bit her lip. It felt so wrong doing all this without Harry and Ron, but she had to. They wouldn't agree, even though Malfoy needed all the help he could get. . .besides, Malfoy would never accept help from The Boy Who Lived. 

~~

Draco sat nervously in his study at nine o'clock that night, hoping and wishing that Seneca would not take it upon herself to do any midnight wandering. He kept running through the plan in his head . . .nothing could go wrong. Hermione Granger was the personification of efficiency, that was one of the most annoying things about her. Stupid girl. 

He forced himself to think of something else. 

His mother had been acting very strangely that afternoon, fussing around Draco like a worried mother hen. Most out of character for her. But then, she was probably suffering an attack of worry about her precious only son being subjected to brainwashing the next day. He shivered. Who had the cloaked figure that had visited earlier been? He'd seemed vaguely familiar, and his mother had recognised him and let him in on sight. 

The was a knock on the door, and Draco automatically picked up a quill and looked at the columns of numbers as though he had been working. "Come in," he said, hoping that it wasn't Seneca. It wasn't. It was his mother. 

"Draco, darling, how are you?" she started after letting herself into the room and seating herself opposite her son. 

"Fine, thank you mother," he said coolly. He was fine for the moment at least. 

Conversation stopped. Mother and son had never had much to say to each other, and now they had even less. Narcissa sighed. 

"You know your father was a Death Eater, don't you, dear?" she asked. 

Draco nodded. He had always known, and she knew he knew. It was something that none of them talked about. 

"Well. . .The Dark Lord contacted me earlier. . .and well, he wants you to join him. To be his personal assistant," she said, with difficulty. 

Draco stared at his mother uncomprehendingly, his blood cold in his veins. His personal assistant? "Why? What happened to Wormtail?" he asked, keeping all emotion out of his voice.

Narcissa shrugged elegantly. "Wormtail is still around - he visited us earlier with the news. Maybe the Dark Lord thinks that you would be. . .better at the job."

His head spun suddenly. Wormtail. . .Voldemort wanted him to be the next Wormtail. He had never met the man himself, but everyone knew Wormtail's story and state. A treacherous little man, a wreck and a coward. A rat. Scum of the earth. And Voldemort wanted him to be next. 

"I don't have a choice, do I?" he asked his mother, a little sadly. this was the end. The little hope he had was lost in a pit of oblivion that took the place of his life. 

"Not really. It wouldn't be so bad. . .you are to meet the Dark Lord tomorrow night. Just. . .just be yourself, and do what he says." 

Draco looked at his mother who looked back with a strange expression on her face. It was something he had never seen on her before. . .worry? Pity? Concern?! Surely not! Draco hid his surprise and smiled thinly. 

"Of course. I will make you proud, I assure you mother."

She smiled in relief at his pretty lie and left the room. 

When she had gone, Draco slumped again. Hell. His life was hell. Voldemort had turned his crimson gaze to him and wanted him. Draco remembered with pain the expression on Snape's face when he had found the scars on Snape's back. Was that what he was destined for too? He hoped not. For a moment, he forgot his plans for escape while he tortured himself with painful mental images of Voldemort tying him down, whipping him, beating him, laughing all the while. He snapped out of it and glared at nothing. Well tough, if that was what Voldemort wanted. He would rather die first. 

He checked his watch. Ten o'clock. He had better leave at 12, to give him enough time to make it up to the castle gates. Granger had better be ready for him. 

Two hours later, the house was asleep, and Malfoy lit the fire in his office again and tossed the sparkling power into the flames. The turned an alarming shade of green and he stepped in unconcerned. "The Three Broomsticks," he said clearly into the dark of the chimney place and felt the familiar jerk around his navel as the world span. 

It stopped spinning in the Three Broomsticks. From beneath his cowl, Draco looked around at the happy scene and felt strange separate. He made for the door, being jostled and pushed slightly from the crowds of merry drinkers. He finally made his escape and stood on the deserted main street of Hogsmeade. It was eerily empty and the flickering shadows that appeared on the ground from the light of the pub were unnerving. He quickly moved away from the noise and walked into the silence of the velvet night, savouring his independence for the first time in months. Here he was free; under the oversized cloak nobody knew him as Draco Malfoy - in fact, no-one knew him at all. He smiled to himself and set pace for the school in which all his troubles had started, and in which he wished that to end. 

He climbed the hill up to the school and reached the gates ten minutes early. He sat on the rough grass and leaned against the gate post outside the grounds and watched the stars and silent constellations in the sky. The moon was out, though not quite full. It cast its silvery light over the half-world and changed it into a magical faery world where anything was possible, for muggles and wizards alike. He loved the night and its beautiful magic that no human could ever hope to match. 

Above him familiar stars told their fortunes and twinkled, the nightlights of the gods. 

"Malfoy?" hissed a voice out of the darkness. 

Draco sat up and looked around him, hating himself for being caught off guard. 

"Over here," hissed the voice again. he recognised it to be Granger's and looked over to the gates. Her head hovered, suspended mid air. 

He stared. She made an impatient face and shrugged off the cloak. 

"Invisibility cloak, now come on," she snapped, and Draco rose to join her under the sheet of material. 

"I've seen this before, haven't I? In our third year Potter used it to go into Hogsmede," Draco said quietly as they made their way up to the castle. It was dark and imposing to him, but he suspected he was just being morbid. 

"You did? Oh, yes, I remember. . ." Hermione said distractedly, looking at an ancient scrap of paper. 

"What is that?" he asked, curious. 

"Nothing. We had better be quiet now, though nobody is up and about. Not even Mrs. Norris," she said evasively. Draco gave up, telling himself that he didn't really care. 

They moved slowly, their progress impeded by the cloak. Both of them were equally anxious not to touch the other unnecessarily, but it was difficult whilst staying under the safety of the cape. 

He occupied himself by trying to guess where Granger was taking him, looking out for all the usual land marks that he knew so well. They were making their way down. . .down towards the. . .

Draco stopped up sharp. "I am not going to the dungeons," he snapped. 

"Yes you are, and we can argue when we get there," Hermione whispered back, equally determined. 

He snarled at her. "Do you have no feelings, mudblood? Or is this just a game to you?"

She glared back. "Malfoy, I am risking so mush to help you here, you can at least so a little gratitude. Now shut up and move. NOW."

She grasped the edges of the cloak and moved forwards, leaving Malfoy no option but to follow. He did so, complaining in his mind, until the got to the dark safety of the dungeons. Hermione led them in, unlocking the door with her wand. Draco pushed the door shut after her, and they slipped back into visibility. 

"Why here, Granger?" Draco snapped

"Because it's the last place people will look and no-one ever comes down into the dungeons any more, not even Mrs. Norris. You're entirely safe. I can bring you food and anything else you need and it's close to the toilets. It's the best place to hide you, in other words," she retorted, not even looking at Draco. Instead, she lit a torch with her wand and walked over to the back of the classroom. Behind the back bench, she had transfigured two stools into a bed and a small table. On the table were three books, presumably to help him pass the time. 

"I take it that Potions is no longer held down here then?" he asked, slightly morose. 

She glanced at him. "No."

"Oh."

Conversation exhausted, Draco looked at the worried face of his rescuer and said, "You had better leave. I'll be fine here, for a while."

She nodded silently and gave him a half smile. Wordlessly, she disappeared from view as she slipped the cloak back around her and left the room. 

Draco stood alone, looking at the cold chamber, remembering his first lesson with Snape, way back in the first year. Then in the second year, taunting Potter about the Chamber of Secrets, and then again in the third year about his godfather. Then in the fourth about the Triwizard Tournament, and in the fifth for failing to defeat Voldemort again. And then this year, talking with Snape, trying to convince him that they could have a relationship. . .he turned away and crawled into the bed that awaited him. He fought to forget all the things that he would have to deal with, including Voldemort and Snape. Especially Voldemort and Snape.


	40. Six Weeks

Chapter 40  
  
*looks around* 40? Oh help! SOMEBODY STOP ME!!!!!!! Lol, okay, okay. I'm calm. Will now proceed to write chapter. ^^ Thanks again for reviews and reviewers, esp. Alya Pascal, Pervert Bitch, the Puck and Blonde Ditz. And ?, (weird). You are all wonderful, wonderful people. Oh, and WARNING: kind of very feeble suggestions of femmeslash. . .nothing more than kissing, but I thought I'd better warn you. . . Alysun.  
  
Six Weeks.  
  
Narcissa woke up the next morning feeling decidedly ruffled. Since Lucius' murder, everything seemed to have being going horribly wrong. . .when she had planned it, it had been perfect. There was no way of proving that Severus was innocent, and even if there was, the jurors would send him down anyway, thanks to Seneca's talents. Severus wasn't supposed to sleep with Draco, and Draco wasn't supposed to like it! No. . .and then, Severus wasn't supposed to realise that she had killed Lucius, however little evidence there was. And Voldemort wasn't supposed to want Draco as his new assistant. She shivered slightly, despite the warmth of the room. Wormtail had visited yesterday to tell her. There was something undeniably disgusting about him - the way he cowered at a single word from her and flinched when she moved near him, yet still managed to keep a sneering, superior tone to his stutter. However much he infuriated her, she couldn't touch him while he was Voldemort's servant, and Wormtail knew it. She felt the beginnings of a headache and swung herself out of bed in search of a headache cure. She reached her bathroom and rifled through the various bottles and containers in the cupboard, carefully ignoring her reflection in the mirror. She did not look her best in the early morning. Besides, the mirror was a sarcastic so-and-so, when it wanted to be. . . She yawned and wiped the sleep out of her eyes. Blinking once or twice, she stared at the collection of pills and potions that she had gathered up over the years. She really should clear it out. Maybe later. She searched again for something that cured headaches, but found only three empty bottles of the substance that she chased after. . . She made an expressive snort and tossed her hair out of her eyes. This was so damn stupid! All she wanted was a damn cure for her damn headache and she couldn't even get that! Why could nothing go to plan? Why?! She abandoned the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and stormed back into the adjoining room, her bedroom. She sat down heavily at the end of the bed, crossed her arms and sulked like a child. Not fair! Nothing was right! Draco, stupid, stupid, stupid boy had to go and spoil everything. . . no. Not Draco's fault. Snape's. Snape. He was the one who had perverted her Lucius, and then her Draco! Hers! Not his! Queer bastard. . .she had never liked him, the way he crept around in his dungeons. . .he wasn't right in the head. Queer little git. Stealing her husband and then her only son, what kind of game was that to play? Her only son! And the amount of work she had put into getting Draco. . . She scowled darkly. Her sense told her now that both her son and her husband were as 'queer' as Snape, and were as much to blame as he was. Narcissa, however, had never been one for sense. Her son, her Lucius. . .all hers. Not Snape's. HERS! She relaxed a little thinking of this. Snape was safely locked up in Azkaban, him and all his perversions, safely hidden away from Draco. Lucius was resting, safe at last from Snape's poisoned grip. Things were looking up. . .especially with Seneca to clear up the last of the sickness from Draco. Yes, things were starting to look up. . . She smiled and started to dress for breakfast (well. She glanced at the carriage clock on her bedside table. Maybe lunch), remembering that Draco was still not to eat much, for his operation later that day. It helped her to think of it as an operation.  
  
~~  
  
Draco woke up in the bed that Hermione had transfigured for him, down in the dark dungeons of Hogwarts. It took him a moment to realise where he was, and how he had got there in the first place. He was running, hiding from Seneca and Voldemort - not to mention his mother and her twisted ideas about was good for him. He shivered, and pulled the covers closer round him. They were not as good a quality as he was used to, but they were still warm and comforting to him as he sat, curled into a ball, thinking dark thoughts. It was all his fault. It was all his damn fault, his fault that he had gone to Snape all those months ago, his fault that he had tried to push Snape too far, his fault that Snape was in Azkaban. . . He shivered again, and then glanced at his watch. Half twelve, apparently. It still felt like early morning, but then, day and night was hard to distinguish in the gloom of the dungeons. True, light filtered through the deep set windows, but it was hardly enough to see clearly by, let alone to judge the time by. So. What should he do now? His stomach rumbled, telling him quite clearly what it thought he should do. . . would Granger bring him some food any time soon? It was about lunch time at any rate. . . On a more long term train of mind, how long could he practically stay down here? Would his mother panic when she found him gone and demand for a search of the castle? He didn't put it past her to do so, but he sincerely hoped not. But what if she did? Granger had better have some sort of a plan in that eventuality. There was a quiet knock on the door of the classroom that made him freeze. Who was it? What should he do?! Silently, the door was pushed open, and a head peered in past it before he could do anything. "Draco?" Hermione hissed into the half darkness. "Close the bloody door!" he hissed back in way of reply. She slipped in and did so, carrying with her a big plate of sandwiches and a jug of pumpkin juice. "Here you are," she said more clearly, and moved across the room and dumped the tray and jug on the end bench next to Draco's bed. "How are you?" "Starving. Thank you," Draco murmured indiscreetly, with a sandwich in his hand already. "Good. I'm fine too, by the way," she replied, just a little disapproving. "Nobody has asked me any questions or anything, so I think we can safely assume you're safe for a little while at least. Of course, your disappearance will be in the newspapers when your mother finds you gone, but that can't be helped. I know a place you can go if they want to explore the castle. Any idea why your mother hasn't reported you missing already?" Draco didn't answer for a minute, trying to let his brain catch up with Granger's ready flow of chatter. "Probably hasn't even woken up yet. She'll see I'm gone at lunch time, which is about one o'clock in our household," he said and reached out for another sandwich. "Oh," answered Granger and looked a little put out. Then she said, "Doesn't she check up on you or anything like that?" Draco's mouth twisted into a smile. "My mother? Lord, no. I think that falls under the classification of 'mothering' which she doesn't do. As soon as I was old enough to look after myself and didn't need a nanny any more, I was left pretty much to myself as far as my mother was concerned. I was much closer with father than I will ever be with mother." "Oh," she said again, and rubbed her nose, as if in confusion. She didn't say any more, however, for which Draco was grateful for at least. He didn't want to be questioned on his home life right then. Hermione sat on the edge of the bench next to Draco's bed and said "So what do you want to do now you're out of the Manor? You can't stay here forever you know. . ." Draco sighed. Before answering, he transfigured an abandoned potions beaker into a glass and poured himself a drink. "How long do you reckon I can stay down here for?" he asked at length. She shrugged. "I'd say. . .maybe ten weeks at the very most. No-one ever comes down here any more, not even Filch or the ghosts. Even the Slytherins steer clear from it, or so I've heard. No-one likes to think about Professor Snape now that he's gone." Draco scowled at her last line. Turncoats! Just because he had gone didn't mean he wouldn't ever help them. . . Not that he could, really, not now he was in Azkaban. Not now that he had put him in Azkaban. The scowl slid from his face leaving him look like himself, for once. Young, worried and ever so slightly insecure. He quickly smothered the look with the calm composed mask he had perfected long before he had reached Hogwarts, hoping that Granger hadn't noticed. He had been too late, judging by the look on her face. "It's not your fault, you know," she said softly. His face turned stony, but he refused to answer, knowing that it was pointless to try and convince her that it was. "It's really not," she said again, earnestly. "I don't know what went on exactly, but I'm guessing you found out about him and your father, right?" Draco said nothing but continued to stare at the bedspread as though it was the most fascinating thing he had ever come across, hoping that she would just go away, or that the angry words in his head would drown out her lies. But they didn't and her words drilled on into his mind, invoking feelings and emotions that he didn't want. She took the silence as an affirmation that yes, he had found out about Lucius and Snape. She went on, not oblivious to his iron cast look, but knowing that these were words he had to hear for his own sanity. "So you found out about Professor Snape and your father. You were angry. Of course you were angry, Draco! You wouldn't be human not to be! He should have told you before, he should have let you know before then. So you turned on him in anger, and the results were. . .well, a little drastic and very, umm. . .well, definite. . .but it wasn't your fault!" He turned his cold gaze to meet her chocolate stare. The dark eyes offered sympathy and understanding, and he couldn't bear it. She didn't understand. She couldn't understand! And there was no way of making her see that she was wrong. . . So he just shrugged and looked away. "Ten weeks, you said?" he said, changing the subject abruptly. She sighed and agreed. "Yes. But that's at the very most. . .I think eight weeks would be possibly more realistic, but I can't really judge. It depends on whether or not people start using the dungeons again. They probably won't, since we have potions on the fourth floor now, but you never know. . I'll keep an ear out for any rumours." Again, Draco felt an uncomfortable twinge of guilt as she mentioned Snape's absence. "Good. I'll try and think of something I can do. . .there is nowhere - and I mean nowhere to go any more. I was thinking that maybe one of my father's more open minded friends would look after me for a while. . . maybe even Crabbe's family, or perhaps Goyle's, but I can't even do that now. . ." Granger gave him a puzzled look and he sighed inwardly. Of course, she didn't know. . . "Why can't you go?" she inevitably asked him. "Because they are Death Eaters, each and every one of them. And now the Dark Lord wants. . ." Draco broke off, suddenly finding it hard to talk in the bleak realisation that he was entirely alone. . . "Wants?" Hermione coaxed. "Me." "You?!" she gasped, her eyes wide. Damn silly innocent, Draco thought grimly. She may think that's bad, but she really has no idea. . ."Yes, me. He wants me to be his 'personal assistant', according to Wormtail and my dear mother," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Personal assistant?" she asked, sounding slightly faint. "Yes, Granger. That is what I said. Personal assistant. Blood, pain, death, rape. All the good stuff," he snapped sardonically "And won't that be fun?!" She bit her lip and looked at him. She was really worried now. . .to hide him from his mother and some other witch was bad enough, but from Him. . .it made her want to hide behind something just to think about it! But overall, he was right. There was nowhere he could go now. . .and besides, all things taken into consideration, Hogwarts was probably the safest place from him. "Well. . .Hogwarts is probably the best place for you to be. . .I mean, You- Know-Who wouldn't dare openly attack Dumbledore, would he?" Draco shrugged grimly. "I don't know. I really don't know. When he rose again, he was restored back to the state he was in before Potter destroyed him. . .except that Potter was vulnerable to him again. Since then? I don't know. Father was . . .well, favoured by the Dark Lord, certainly, so he probably knew about that kind of thing. He hinted to me once or twice that he was getting stronger again, but said nothing definite. . ." Hermione chewed on her lip again, and tugged a strand of hair in her discomfort. "But do you think he could actually attack Hogwarts?" Draco sighed unhappily. "I wish I could say. I don't think so. . .but then, on saying that, it doesn't really matter if he could, in my case. I can't see him risking a whole bunch of Death Eaters, just to get at me. Potter maybe, but not me." Hermione decided to ignore the little suggestion of jealousy that had showed through in Draco's voice. What could they do? What should she do? Go to Dumbledore. She must tell him all this. . . it was essential for him to know! "Malfoy, I don't care what you think, but Dumbledore has to know about this!" Malfoy looked at her as if she was mad. "You what?!" Oh, why couldn't he just make this easy for himself? "You heard me. We have to tell Dumbledore! All this is important, you know, Malfoy. If You-Know- Who is looking for you, and finds out that you're at Hogwarts, then he might just to kill two birds with one stone and get you and Harry both at once!" she cried, her voice rising in worry. He scowled again. She just refused to see it, didn't she? Why in hell did she have to make it so damn hard for him? "Don't you see it, you stupid girl? He won't know I'm here! He has no spies in Hogwarts, which is probably why he's so anxious to get at me. He won't launch an open attack on Hogwarts just yet because, whatever you may think, he is not bloody stupid! Evil, sadistic, cruel, heartless, merciless and sick, yes, but stupid and foolish, no. Before now, he might have, and relied on Snape and his fear to get them a free entrance into the school, but he hasn't even got that now! But if he had me. . .that would change it again. I am the turning point here, the fate of all and everything lies. . . on. . me," he said, ending very slowly, as though talking to an idiot. "Yes, I know that, Malfoy! But if we told Dumbledore. . ." "If we told Dumbledore, then he would know, and probably tell Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Fudge would tell his offices, and Granger, I assure you, some of the members of his offices are not loyal to Fudge. Far from it." For a moment, Granger was silent, thinking. Seeing this, he fell back, exhausted onto the bed. Sometimes, he thought to himself, Gryffindors were so bloody honourable and utterly thick, it was hard to differentiate them from Hufflepuffs. . . "But if we explained to Dumbledore. . ." "NO, Granger. The more people who know I'm here, the more danger I'm in. Can't you see that?" She nodded miserably in acceptance that he was right, and Draco heaved a sigh of relief. She stood up to leave. "I'd better go, before I'm missed. The plate and the jug will re-fill themselves indefinitely, but I'll try and visit you tomorrow some time. Anything you want?" Draco considered the offer for a moment. "My freedom, the past few months of my life never to have happened, Snape to be freed, and perhaps, for the Dark Lord to accidentally poison himself on some vile concoction that was supposed to make him immortal, and maybe, if it's at all possible, a book about Dementors, if you please." Hermione pulled a face at him and said, "That isn't funny, you know. I'll get you the book for tomorrow." Draco looked at her seriously. "I know it's not funny, Granger. It's hilarious." She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and sniffed. "I don't know why I said I'd help you, I really don't. See you tomorrow, Malfoy. " Draco smiled slowly to himself as the door clicked shut. Nothing better than winding up Gryffindors. . .especially Gryffindors like Granger. Just so long as she didn't go running to any of the Professors. . .  
  
Narcissa made her way up to the library, cursing the Manor's architect for making any route to the place impossibly long. She clicked her tongue irately as she mounted the last set of stairs. All this to see Seneca. A bag of coins clinked gently at her side. She had got them out of her vault in Gringrott's the previous day, and was carrying them round with her to keep them safe. 7500 galleons. 7500 glorious, gleaming, glimmering, golden galleons. All for the boy. . .she sighed again and pushed the library door open. "Seneca?" she called into the infinite gloom. She hated libraries. Big, dull boring places full of row upon row, shelf upon shelf of books. Books! Who needed them, really? What did they do? Nothing. Her husband had always wanted her to be more literary minded, but she had never managed it, despite his best efforts. She just found reading anything beyond the gossip columns in the newspaper plain boring. "Narcissa, dear," came Seneca's voice, softly, softly. . .it was hypnotic in itself. . . beautifully soft, silky smooth. . . She snapped herself out of it, and tossed her head resolutely. Seneca would never try anything like that on her. . .not even if someone was paying her. But still. . .the softness of the voice was deceiving, and Narcissa fought a shiver out of her system. Seneca was her friend. She was Seneca's friend. She was. "Ah, I see you've come to pay back. . .your debts. . ." Seneca murmured, spotting the bulging leather pouch with sharp yet apparently languid eyes. . . "Yes. For Draco, tonight. I'll pay you when you're done, like always. . ." "Ah-ah-ahh. . . Narcissa, dearest, I need my security as much as you do. Pay me now, or I might just find myself . . .forgetting. . ." the silken voice came, the threat not even touching the soft, soft tone of her voice, padded by the slow relaxation of the pauses. Narcissa fought with herself. The more delicate, romantic side of her had already given in to the soft persuasion of the gentle voice, but the hardened, colder side that had earned her a place in Slytherin resisted, mistrusted the sheathed dagger that was surely hidden in the soft feather light beauty of the voice. . . Before she could stop herself, she found her hand on the fastening of the purse, fumbling to undo it, gently urged by the calming, soothing sound of the voice. . . "That's it, Narcissa, dearest, you know you're right. . ." She made a strangled noise as she tore her hand away from the purse. "Tonight," she said harshly, her voice so hard, so grating to her ears in comparison to the sweet, liquid honey that spoke to her. . . "Now, now, Narcissa. . .all the things I do for you and you won't allow me this one little extra? I thought we were friends, Narcissa . . ." the voice saddened, softened until it was hard to hear. Out of nowhere, Narcissa felt guilt like she had never felt before. She had failed the voice! The voice was so sad, and it was all her fault. . .sweet voice, so warm, so unlike anything else she had ever heard. . .sweet, soft, soft voice. . .the voice that had been there for her, when she had needed it so much. . .beautiful voice. . . She hung her head in shame, unexpected tears in her eyes. She unbuckled the purse easily and held it out to the voice, finding herself on her knees, as though making an offering to a god. The Slytherin side of her rebelled screaming the insanity of it, trying to get its attention, but was downed out easily, by a chuckle from the voice. "Narcissa, you are so sweet sometimes. . ." the weight of the bag vanished as a hand came down and took it from her. The scream of sense was merely a muffled shout by now. The voice had said she was sweet! Happiness sent a thrill through her, making her want to sing and dance around the library, to laugh with sheer joy. Instead she dared to look up at the voice, her eyes big and resembled closely those of a begging puppy dog. She saw a face, pale, aquiline and amused. And beautiful. . .so beautiful. So beautiful that it had to belong to the voice. . .the mouth of the face moved, and voice flowed from it, like a trickling flow of sparkling water in a brook. She watched the mouth move transfixed, the voice softly bending her will to fit its words. "Oh, of course. . .stand up, Narcissa, darling, stand and come to me. . ." In a dream like state, Narcissa stood up, barefoot - barefoot? She must have kicked them off when she knelt down - and moved shyly towards to face, never taking her eyes of the sensual, warm red of the moving mouth that uttered such sweet, sweet words in such a soft, soft voice. . .she would do anything for that voice, anything. . . Anything for the voice that murmured sweet nothings for her and her alone, in a way Lucius had never done after Draco's birth. . .somehow, both the names and the relevance of the comment where suddenly lost to her. . .Draco? Draco meant nothing, he was the Dark Lord's now, and as for Lucius. . .well, and Lucius belonged with the dead. She smiled shyly at the face, like a nervous twelve-year-old meeting her first date. Who did she, Narcissa belong to? No-one. No-one but the voice. . . "So sweet, Narcissa. . .such beautiful hair. . .let me touch it. . ." the voice uttered, like melted butter sliding into her ears and into her mind, sending tingling happiness through her. She moved closer and bowed her head slightly for the voice to touch her hair. Long, pale fingers reached out at her and stroked the fine blonde hair that Narcissa offered to them, barely touching, but touching enough to make Narcissa shiver in delight. "Such soft hair, Narcissa, such soft, sweet hair. . ." The fingers slid from her hair and caressed her cheek, running up and down lingering maybe longer than they should. They were cool, almost cold, and sent another thrill through Narcissa. "And your skin. . .my, my, Narcissa, so soft to touch, so warm and fresh. . ."the voice came again, this time making her blush with girlish pleasure. The voice appreciated her, touched her so softly, as softly as it sounded. . .the fingers moved from her cheek and traced down to her chin. The touch was so soft, so light. . .it made her nerves tingle as they moved on, making her want to do something, not just stand there. . .jump up and down, scream shout, laugh or cry, she didn't know, but just to stand there was torture. . .but, oh! such pleasurable torture. . . "Do you like that, Narcissa?" the voice breathed as the fingers slid down her throat and ran around to the back of her neck, never anything more than a light trace, but so good. . . Narcissa could only whimper an agreement, no longer hearing the sanity in her Slytherin voice, not hearing her Slytherin side at all. "It's good, isn't it, Narcissa?. . .do you want more? You do? Oh, Narcissa. . ." Narcissa felt so weak now, not wanting to believe what was happening in fear of finding it to be nothing more than a dream. . . The way the voice spoke her name. . .the slight lingering on the 's' s, the gentle tone softening the harsh edges to the 'Nar' at the beginning. . .divine. Divine. . .the voice was divine. The pressure from the fingers that fondled the back of her neck increased ever so slightly, urging her to move closer to the face that stood in front of her. Obediently, Narcissa's feet took her one, two, three paces towards the face, until they were almost nose to nose. . . The face smiled so sweetly at her, the eyes tracing the delicate features of her face so fondly, in a way she had longed for all her life. The lips of the mouth in front of her pursed slightly, a suggestion, a warning of what to was to come. . . Narcissa didn't know, didn't care, not even when the hand on her neck pulled her closer, landing her own mouth on the soft lips that were offered to her. She reacted automatically, parting her lips to let the tongue that uttered the honeyed words into her own mouth, letting it touch, explore, caress, like the fingers had done on her face. So gentle, so melodious in it's own silent way. . . Arms wound themselves around the effortless grace of Narcissa's body. She reacted again, before even considering what she was doing. So warm and so soft, it had to be safe, her security. . .she, in turn, slid her arms around the well formed body before her, pulling her closer, deeper into her mouth, closer to her body. She let her eye lids flutter closed, letting her brain centre its attention on the kiss. Slowly and carefully, the kiss was broken off by the face that was so soft and caring. Narcissa whimpered, not wanting it to end, not now, not ever, the surreal pleasure of it making her head spin. The voice chuckled deeply, fingers stroking her back luxuriously. "You want more still, Narcissa? But I thought you didn't like this sort of thing. . ." Narcissa stared soulfully into the bottomless, caring eyes that were so close to hers. . .she couldn't find it in herself to break the spell by opening her mouth to talk, so she just stared mournfully into the deep, deep eyes. . . And then the arms unwound themselves, and the face moved away from her, prising her hold from the perfect figure. "I think you had better go and think for a while, Narcissa, dear. . ." Gentle fingers forced her out of the darkened library into the relative brightness of the hall, and the door closed quietly but solidly, shutting Narcissa away from the drowning gaze, the gentle touches and the soft, soft voice. . . Confused and lost, she fell to the floor, tears pouring from her eyes, rivulets of sorrow and desire. . .of need. . .she needed someone to hold her, to love her, to want her. . . To love her.  
  
The gong crashed, ringing endlessly through her ears, stamping on her wants and pointing out her needs. She needed to eat. She didn't want to. The voice didn't want her. . . Don't be a damn fool, her Slytherin side snapped, and yet still she sat on the floor, barefoot and whimpering. She never wanted to move, not until the voice called her and said that it wanted her again. . .another tear escaped, running solo down her cheek. Her cheek, the cheek that the voice had complimented. . . The gong crashed again, shaking her out of her self pity a bit more. Why did the voice push her away? Why? "You want more still, Narcissa? But I thought you didn't like this sort of thing. . ." What sort of thing? She didn't like softness, sweetness, gentle touches, light caresses? The gong crashed for a third time. Bloody thing! She snapped, bringing her totally and completely out of herself. She looked around her, gathering her wits as she did so. Her shoes were strewn on the floor, just outside of the door. She stood to retrieve them, noting that she had been on the floor, and crying. She bit her lip and pushed the tears away, annoyed at them. She couldn't even remember the last time she had cried without forcing herself.  
  
She pulled her shoes on and made for the stairway, hurrying down to the dining room where Draco would be waiting impatiently for her. . .the gong crashed again and she set off down the next set of stairs, cursing under her breath as she went. Eventually, she made it to the dining room, unscathed but more than slightly breathless. She stopped outside the room, and straightened her robes and hair before pushing open the door, ready excuses waiting on her tongue to greet Draco with. "Draco dear, I was. . ." she stopped. She was all alone. The table was set for two, but no-one was seated in Draco's chair. Where's the damn boy now? The gong went off again, and Narcissa jerked the bell pull in the corner of the room sharply. Silently, Quarles, the esteemed Malfoy butler, slipped in and bowed slightly to her. "Yes, ma'am?" he murmured, respectfully. "Quarles, do you know where the wretched boy has got to? He doesn't appear to have heard the bell for lunch. . ." "It appears, ma'am, that young Master Malfoy has been absent from the Manor since either last night or this morning. It was assumed that he had been sent out of the Manor, ma'am." Narcissa stared at Quarles unbelievingly. "What?" she asked dumbly, elegance lost in her shock. Quarles looked suitably disapproving at his mistress's lack of manners, but repeated, "Master Malfoy appears to be absent from the Manor, ma'am." She sat down abruptly on the nearest chair, all the colour gone from her face. "Oh gods. . .oh gods, oh help. . ." she whispered. Some days one should just stay in bed. . . Her hand automatically went down to her side in search of comfort in the money that she had carried there, only to find that it had gone. She panicked for a moment, before remembering what had happened barely 15 minutes beforehand. . ."Oh, help. . ." Her eyes glazed over with tears, and Quarles stepped back out of the room respectful as ever of his master's (and mistress') privacy. Tears fell again from Narcissa's eyes, this time in sheer helplessness rather than the misery of before. Nothing would go right today. . .even Seneca had turned against her, playing cruel games with her mind. But. . .but it had been. . .NO! No, no and no. She shuddered and started to drag herself back together, mentally. This would not do. Tears never got anyone anywhere, she told herself firmly. She wiped her tears away again and tossed her hair back with an arrogant shake of her head. She pushed her shoulders back and marched purposefully from the room, into his study where Draco seemed to spend most of his time now. Knowing that he was gone, she didn't even bother to knock, but slammed the door open, brimming with rage. How dare he go?! How dare he? How was she going to explain this to the Dark Lord tonight? She looked around, missing nothing with her laser glare. Nothing had been disturbed, the desk as neat and tidy as ever it had been. There were no signs of a scuffle or fight of any sort and it became increasingly clear that he had left entirely of his own will. Her sharp eyes noticed that the fireplace was not as neatly swept as it should have been. She approached it, and stood over it, examining it minutely, looking for the marks of footprints in the ashes. . .there. . .and there. Yes, Draco must have used the Flo Powder. . . damn him. She would contact the Ministry through some of Lucius's old friends and back up her theory by getting evidence from the Flo Network people. The kept a track of every fireplace that was used, from where to where and when. Hopefully, with that piece of information she should be able to determine exactly where the silly prat had got himself to. She muttered under her breath to herself, quietly cursing the boy. She grabbed a quill and a fresh piece of parchment, and jotted down a letter to one of Lucius's more favourable contacts. After a moment or two, she had completed the note and was hurrying down to the owlery, to send it on its way. She hoped and prayed that she would get some results from this. And that the Daily Prophet heard sight nor sound of Draco's disappearance. . .all that was left to do was to face Seneca and either get her money back or make her come back later to do the job on Draco. That and to inform the Dark Lord of Draco's vanishing act. . .she shuddered and started back up to the library. She steeled herself as she knocked sharply on the library door. "Come in," came the silken reply, but with none of the deceiving softness of before. Narcissa pushed open the door and proceeded into the musty air of the library. She wandered slightly between the tall shelves, until she reached the fireplace where Seneca sat, book in hand. "No games, Seneca. I'm here about the boy," Narcissa started briskly, before the dark haired woman could say anything. "But of course Narcissa. . .when did you find that he was gone?" replied Seneca coolly, marking the book and depositing it on the table beside her. "What? You knew? Why didn't you tell me?!" gasped Narcissa, falling back into the other chair feeling rather weak. "Because the boy needs his freedom, Narcissa. He is old enough, by your mortal standards, to stand on his own two feet and decide what he wants. You can't make him into everything you ever wanted Lucius to be, however hard you try." The blonde woman stared at her companion in blatant disbelief. Gone were all traces of Seneca's lingering, soothing tones, replaced by a more natural, practical and brisk voice. "But. . ." she started, at a loss at what to say. "But what, Narcissa? But I agreed to take on the job? Well, I have needs and wants like the rest of you, mostly expensive needs and extravagant wants. That's what immortality does to you. But I am homophobic and disapprove of my son and his tastes? No, I don't disapprove. I couldn't care less. . . I only agreed to have a son because Cydas wanted a heir. When he found out that poor Severus was gay, he couldn't drop the boy fast enough, and I've never had any real feelings for him, so I went along with it. But I'm your friend? I'm a vampire. I don't need mortal friends who die at the blink of an eye. I admit, I get fond of a few who amuse you, like you do, Narcissa, dear, but mostly you're all frightful god-fearing bores. Answered your questions?" Narcissa said nothing, but seemed to deflate within herself, losing all her arrogance and prestige, and looking very disillusioned. On seeing this, Seneca gave a quiet laugh. "Remember, never trust a vampire. We have no needs for humans, other than mere sustenance and a way of passing the centuries. Let the boy go, Narcissa, let him live his own life instead of living it for him." "You. . .you, evil, lying. . .why?!" Narcissa whispered viciously, not wanting to raise her voice. Seneca shrugged. "Why not? Draco needs to believe in himself, believe that he can get free of you, or else he'll end up as a down trodden middle-aged bastard with nothing to show for his past thirty years other than a string of enemies and broken hearts. He's worth more than that. No, don't argue with me, Narcissa, I've lived long enough to know that what I say is true. You've lost Lucius and that's all your fault. Turning Draco into Lucius will get you nowhere. " To that, Narcissa had no answer. She said, more than a little sulkily, "I thought you were supposed to be my friend." "I've explained all that. And anyway, I've been more of a friend by telling you all this and letting Draco free than I would have been otherwise." Narcissa pouted, regaining her old pride more and more by the minute. "But then what did you. . .why did you. . ." she asked, not sure how to phrase her question. "Why did I kiss you earlier?" Seneca asked for her, again, sounding entertained. "Yes." "Because I wanted to show you that I didn't give a damn about homosexuality - that's their business entirely, if that's how they want to be. Besides, I knew that you'd find that Draco was gone soon, and I wanted that money. " "So you won't give it back," stated Narcissa dully. "No. I need it more than you do." Intrigued out of her sulk for a moment, Narcissa inquired, "Why? The Snape name is still supposed to hold a vast fortune to it. You can't tell me that it's all gone already?" "Hardly, dear. But as I said before I have my needs and wants, and they come at a price. I could use the money I got access to by marrying Cydas, but it would have drained the family inheritance horribly. So instead I use other ways and means to acquire money. " Narcissa eyed Seneca suspiciously. "Like what, blackmail? Bribery?" "Amongst other things, yes," came the unconcerned reply. "Still, it's rightfully my money, you know," she challenged. "Well, you going to fight me for it, Narcissa, dear?" Seneca murmured through a half smile that was threatening to be a grin. She decided to stop salting the open wound and moved on. "I suppose you won't help me find Draco now, will you?" "Maybe. At a price," Seneca said, smiling slightly at her words. She sighed. "I hate it when you say that. . .I'm not trusting you any more. I should never have trusted you in the first place. But I have to get him back! The Dark Lord wants him tonight! Tonight!" "No, you shouldn't have trusted me. As for Voldemort (Narcissa flinched at the sound of the name), write and tell him that Draco's gone?" proposed Seneca practically. Again, Narcissa found herself staring at the pale woman that sat in front of her. "Are you insane?! He would kill me! Or at least, torture me at the very least. . .I said that Draco would be here tonight!" "Am I insane? No, just immortal. Would you like me to write and explain? I have no desire to see the boy dead, he could prove to be very useful to me in the future. . ." Seneca asked. "Would you?" asked Narcissa urgently, seeing at least one solution to her many problems. "Oh, yes. After all, it's partly my fault he's in this position. But then, I can make no promises as to the results of this letter. All I would say is that Draco has truly disappeared and that we are searching for him. He knows my name." Narcissa's relieved expression answered everything. "Thank you," she said, gratefully, and a little awkwardly. "No problem. One moment." The room fell silent as a quill and parchment appeared from nowhere and Seneca started to write a letter in her rather cryptic manner. The handwriting sprawled, rather like a spider with broken legs escaped from an ink well. Narcissa watched the quill move across the page, thinking of other things. She had lost her money, that was clear. And Seneca had made herself quite clear that she was not going to fix Draco's mind for her. . .although the situation with the Dark Lord was promising to be a little less disastrous (and painful) than before, which was definitely something. And Seneca said that she might even help to find the boy. . . "There you are," said Seneca, handing over the completed letter. "Thank you," replied Narcissa, rising to leave. "Are you wanting to stay on? You are most welcome to, you know." "I may. I may not. You'll find me gone if I do leave, though I will stay tonight and tomorrow, if that's alright." Wonderful, scowled Narcissa to herself. Bloody vampires. "Perfectly fine, Seneca. Goodbye, for now!" "Goodbye, dear," replied Seneca, unconcerned, then retrieved her book and started reading again. Narcissa swept out of the room and down to the owlery for the second time that day. On reaching it, she found her previous owl sitting waiting for her, a reply tied to its leg. She untied the note carefully, and turned it over before opening it. Yes, defiantly the reply she wanted. She ripped it open and scanned it. "Madam, yes, the fireplace in your husband's study was used last night, at approximately 12:00. The traveller went to "The Three Broomsticks", the local pub in Hogsmeade. It's a public fireplace and open whenever the pub is. Hope to have helped. " Naturally, it had not been signed or addressed, for security reasons. Her contact had obviously had the wits about him to realise that this was important. The remark on her husband's study suggested that Lucius was still alive and was pleasantly misleading in that respect. . . Feeling considerably more cheerful, Narcissa proceeded to the owlery to post Seneca's letter.  
  
~~  
  
Half an hour or so later, the letter arrived on Voldemort's desk, delivered by Wormtail's shaking hand. The owl was dead. "Who is this from, Wormtail? No-one is fool enough to address a letter to me. . ." " I. . .I don't rec-rec-recognise the h-h-handwriting, milord," stuttered Wormtail. "No. You wouldn't," commented Voldemort coolly, and picked up the letter with his long, spindly fingers. "S-s-s-s-sorry, mi-" started Wormtail, red faced and mumbling. "Oh, shut up, Wormtail," said his master, not even bothering to look up, his attention on the letter undivided. Wormtail fell obediently silent. "Hmm. . .from Malfoy Manor, I do believe. . .but not Malfoy handwriting. How odd. Who is staying with the Malfoys, Wormtail?" probed Voldemort lazily. "I-I don't kn-know, milord," stammered his servant. "No, you don't. Do you now why you don't know, Wormtail? Because you are an ignorant fool." "Y-yes, milord," came the miserable answer. "Do you want to know who wrote this letter, Wormtail? Do you want to know who is currently staying at Malfoy Manor?" "Y-yes, milord." "Seneca Snape, Wormtail. What do you make of that?" "O-oh! I-I. . .I. . ." "Quite. Now, let us see. . .why would an ancient vampire of many esteemed values in bribery and corruption, such as herself, be writing to me, Wormtail?" "I-I-I d-don't know, milord ," whimpered the balding man, shaking where he sat on the floor. Voldemort sneered. "No, you don't. You haven't the brains to even entertain the idea. Now shut up, and let me see. . ." Carefully, the long pale digits tore open the letter and unfolded the single sheet of parchment. The blood red eyes read the letter at a meditative pace, unscrambling the scrawl with ease. He ignored the shaky breaths from his slave habitually. "I see. . ." he whispered in an undertone. "Draco Malfoy had gone missing, Wormtail. That is unfortunate, is it not?" "Y-yes, milord," squeaked the little man, not quite hiding his relief. Voldemort's thin lips pressed into a humourless smile. "Very unfortunate. But maybe not so for you, hmm, Wormtail? You hold your post still . . . but for how long I wonder? I am told that Narcissa Malfoy and Seneca Snape are searching for the boy. How long will they take to find him, I wonder? I will give them. . .let us see. . .eight weeks before I take any action. That is reasonable, is it not?" "V-v-very, milord." "Quite. I must be going soft. Six weeks, I think." "Y-y-yes, milord. " "Six weeks. . ." 


	41. At His Mercy

Chapter 41.  
  
41. Oh, help...anyway...thanks for all reviews/reviewers, as always! Alysun  
  
At His Mercy.  
  
Draco woke up again in the dungeons, no longer noticing his surroundings. On the bedside table was seventeen days worth of newspapers, the only real way of counting the slowly passing days. So far, he had not featured in any, meaning that his mother was trying her uttermost to keep him out of the press and succeeding, as she always did in such matters. Two weeks and three days since he had left the Manor and subjected himself to the torturous ennui of the empty dungeons. He had not left the lowest levels of the school since he had arrived, and was beginning to feel that he had lived there all his life. While the solid, stonewalls gave comfort in their thickness alone, but they also marked his total isolation from the world. All except Granger, who he was beginning to find more and more irritating with every minute of her presence.  
  
He glanced at the date on the previous day's newspaper. Saturday. So today was Sunday. The thought in itself was nothing, but as he sat in the warm bed, Draco thought longingly of the Sundays he had spent with his father when he had been younger. Learning to fly was always a weekend occupation, light relief from the heavy timetable of learning the Lucius Malfoy had enforced on his son from an early age. Nothing now, he was no more.  
  
He sighed, a loud noise in the quiet chamber. He looked at his watch and observed that he had woken late again. He had fallen into the habit of going to sleep early and waking up at about half twelve in the day. He stretched and wiped the remaining sleep from his eyes, deciding that he would get up. He swung himself off the side of the bed and pulled on his increasingly rumpled robes. That done, he sat back down on the edge of the bed, at a loss for things to do. Scattered on the floor were various books that he had requested from Granger. There was a fair mix - two or three on Dementors, vampires and other dark creatures, and a couple of fiction (horror, naturally) and three or four textbooks. In his infinite boredom, Draco had flicked through them all and read those that he found interesting.  
  
Granger hadn't visited him yesterday, which sent his mental clock wildly out; she usually visited about quarter to one, more or less as he was getting up. Presumably she had come early yesterday, and had found him asleep so just dumped the newspaper on the desk and left.  
  
There was a quick knock on the door, and then Granger's bushy head of hair appeared. Speak of the devil, Draco thought to himself wryly.  
  
"Morning, Malfoy," she said as she closed the door.  
  
"Granger," he acknowledged.  
  
"Sorry I didn't speak to you yesterday, but I was busy and when I did come up, you were asleep, so I just left the paper for you," she said, sitting down on the desk nearest his bed as she always did.  
  
"I know, thanks. How are you?" asked Draco, resorting to politeness in lack of other conversation. It was sickening- he couldn't even insult the wretched girl since she was helping him.  
  
"I'm fine, thanks. Busy with all the work the teachers are giving us though. How are you?"  
  
"Bored stiff," he answered shortly. "Have you brought a newspaper?"  
  
"Oh, yes! I was forgetting..." she exclaimed and drew out the wad of parchment and handed it to him. He took it gratefully, savouring the headline and picture on the front page, his only contact with the outside world left.  
  
"Nothing particularly interesting today, though," she said, matter-of- factly.  
  
"More interesting than counting bricks, however," Draco murmured, more to himself than Granger.  
  
"Stones, " she corrected him.  
  
He frowned irritably "Whatever."  
  
"Quite. Now listen, I found out something important yesterday..."  
  
Draco looked up at her abrupt announcement. "Yes?"  
  
"Well, it was Harry really, but..."  
  
"Just get on with it, Granger, " he growled. Mudbloods!  
  
She scowled at him. "Well, apparently Dumbledore's worried. There has been a lot of Death Eater activity near here recently. He thinks that Voldemort's strength is building faster than anyone had anticipated. AND your mother's finally started looking for you. She was here yesterday too... I think she's getting the castle searched."  
  
"What?! Why didn't you say?!" he exclaimed, staring at her in disbelief.  
  
"Calm down! The castle won't be searched just yet, and I know somewhere where you can go when they do."  
  
"Yes, that's all very well, Granger, but when do I have to move? How the hell are we supposed to know when they are searching the castle?"  
  
She sighed at him, and said, as though explaining to an imbecile, "They can hardly search the castle without the students knowing, can they? They won't want us getting in the way!"  
  
He scowled at her, knowing that she was right. It was infuriating, but still true.  
  
"Anyway. Apparently your mother explained your absence by saying that you were mourning over your dad's death."  
  
'Father's death, Granger,' Draco wanted to say. 'Dad' was too informal, too. personal.  
  
"But she was here at Hogwarts yesterday talking with Dumbledore about you. I think that we should move you out of the dungeons soon."  
  
"How soon?"  
  
"Tonight. Unless you have any complaints about that?"  
  
Draco gave her a look. "I can't do tonight, I'm washing my hair... of course I don't." Anything to get out of these accursed dungeons. The stony silence was starting to grate on his nerves, the smallest sound making him uneasy. He had wondered how Snape had put up with it for so long. but that was yet another thing he didn't want to think about. He didn't want to think about his father, his friends, his enemies, his family or anything else that reminded him of what he had done, and what he should be doing now, instead of cowering under the protection of a Gryffindor. A Mudblood Gryffindor, at that.  
  
He wished he had a time turner, but even that wouldn't help him. He couldn't change the past. Everything was set in stone.  
  
Stone. Grey, dull and utterly boring. And he was incarcerated in it. But tonight! His sense of adventure was poked from its dormant state at the chance of excitement, however small.  
  
Granger was looking severe.  
  
"You really need to sort out your sense of humour, Malfoy. It's just not funny. And I'll come down here at 1 o'clock. Get everything cleared up, will you? And I'll take those books back to the library. I think Madam Pince is suspicious of my sudden choice of reading matter." Draco couldn't help but snicker slightly. Hermione's face when he had asked for a couple of horror books!  
  
"Oh, shut up. Do you know how to transfigure the bed back? It was pretty advanced stuff.here," she said, and without even waiting for Draco to get out of the bed, she drew her wand and said a couple of appropriate words and the bed disappeared, returning to it's prior state. The fact that it was a stool before it was a bed was not something that mixed well with the fact that Draco was still lying on it. Finding most of his body suspended in midair, Draco had little option but to fall to the ground, hard. Which he did, in a most undignified manner. he glowered from his spot on the floor.  
  
"I could have done it," he grumbled at her.  
  
"I'm sure," she smirked and turned to leave. "1 o'clock, Malfoy. Don't forget." She accio'd the books, catching them neatly and left the dungeons.  
  
"Don't forget," muttered Draco after her, still lying on the floor. "How the hell am I supposed to forget? It's not like I'm going to get distracted."  
  
~~  
  
1:00am. -Finally- time to leave this place. Draco could only wonder where Granger was planning to take him. He would bet his broomstick that he wouldn't like it. She seemed to have a knack of finding places that he wouldn't like.  
  
But then, anything was better than the dungeons. They were freezing cold and filled with memories.  
  
He stood waiting in the doorway of the deserted classroom and waited impatiently. She was late, dammit! She was probably under that Cloak of Potter's again. Something glimmered in front of his eyes, and low and behold, Granger appeared. "Got everything you need? Cleared up?" she whispered in greeting.  
  
Draco nodded mutely and allowed himself to be covered by the cloak.  
  
"Ok.come on," she hissed and they started their awkward progress up and out of Hogwarts. When they were well clear of the building, Draco asked her quietly, "Where are you taking me?"  
  
"You'll see in a minute," she answered, and refused to say anything more, much to his annoyance.  
  
It looked like they were heading to the Forest. Draco had only been in there once, on detention in his first year. It was not something he wanted to do again. but no. They stopped just short of the forest, to Draco's relief. Granger took the cloak from round them and handed it to Draco to hold.  
  
Draco slung it over one shoulder and watched her dumbly as she looked around and then picked up a long branch that had broken off one of the trees. She picked it up with surprising ease and jabbed one of the trees with it - Draco recognised it as a Whomping Willow too late in the dark.  
  
"Hey, watch out." he warned too late. But nothing happened. The tree was . apparently frozen totally. Not even the small branches that had been slapping away flies and other insects had frozen. A breeze ruffled Draco's hair, but didn't so much as move a leaf on the tree. "What the .?" he asked in amazement.  
  
"Oh, come on," Granger said, standing by the trunk of the tree. "This way," and disappeared.  
  
"Granger?" he asked in alarm. Where had she gone?  
  
"Down here," came the muffled reply. "It's a secret passageway, now hurry up."  
  
After a little of poking around, Draco found where she was, and followed her in, still carrying the cloak over his shoulder.  
  
"Come on," she said again.  
  
"Alright, calm down," he muttered at her.  
  
"Well, *some* of us want to get to sleep tonight! We've got a Transfiguration test tomorrow! And an. and other things," she finished lamely. It was more than obvious that she had meant to say something else.  
  
"And a what?" he asked, coolly.  
  
She shrugged, still walking in front of him, not turning around to look at him. "Nothing important, Malfoy. We're here now, anyway."  
  
And so they were. Where 'here' was, Draco had no idea, but it appeared to be an antiquated, vandalised house of some description. "Where are we?"  
  
"The Shrieking Shack," she told him calmly, taking the Cloak from his unresisting hands.  
  
"The Shrieking Shack?! Are you mad!" he yelled at her. "This place is haunted! More haunted than even Hogwarts is!"  
  
"Oh calm down and stop being such a baby," she told him crossly. "There are no ghosts here and never have been.  
  
"There have been sightings of ghosts here! And howls! How do you think it got its name?"  
  
"The howls were made by a werewolf who came here every full moon to change. And the sightings were fictional, rumours started by Dumbledore. Now calm down, I know what I'm talking about."  
  
Draco's head span with the sudden influx of information. This was weird. The Shrieking Shack had always been haunted! It was famous for it! People came to see it! And here he was, living in the damned place!  
  
"You can stay here for as long as you need to. I can't come and visit you here, and I have no idea what the plumbing is like. You'll have to work everything out for yourself. I'll try and come up to see you if I can. I promise nothing though. I'll see if I can get newspapers to you, but like I said. Anyway. I'd better get back to Hogwarts and catch some sleep. Good night, Malfoy."  
  
"And you, Granger," he replied, somewhat dazedly. Covering herself with the Cloak, she left the Shack to Draco, and Draco alone.  
  
All alone. There was nothing to do here, and no one, not even Granger to talk to.  
  
Draco wandered around the house by wand light, until he found a bed. Ignoring the musty smell, he fell asleep, deciding to deal with everything in the morning.  
  
~~  
  
On the harsh, bleak island that held Azkaban in all its hateful glory, a man arrived from the Ministry. Rookwood was back. Or at least, to be precise, Rookwood's only son was back, in place of his father. He had only been seven when his father had been taken by the Aurors, old enough to understand that Karkoff had betrayed them and old enough to understand that he had to avenge his father's death. He had gone to Voldemort as soon as he had chance - barely out of Durmstrang; Rookwood had offered himself to the Dark Lord, on the condition that he could kill Karkoff himself. The Dark Lord had been amused and agreed. Rookwood was initiated.  
  
He started his work at the Ministry and was climbing the social ladder quickly - though slowly enough and obscurely enough not to make anyone become suspicious. His new father planned all and everything he did, every plan he made, every girl he kissed. Voldemort. He was dangerously obsessed.  
  
He had been told to go to Azkaban and get Severus Snape released, so there he was, outside the big, wrought iron gates waiting to be let in. Some nagging part of his mind told him that what he was doing was wrong. Snape was a traitor. There was nothing Rookwood hated more than traitors.  
  
He took comfort in the thought that his Master knew what he was doing, and made his way into the grey labyrinth of cells, led by a tall featureless Dementor. The cold depression threatened to engulf him, but he fought against it, thinking only of his mission, the mission that had been set by his Master. That was all that mattered.  
  
They reached the cold grimy cell and Rookwood slid the small viewing slot open to see the hunched figure of Severus Snape. His hair was longer and even more unruly than before and his robes hung off him, showing him to be thinner than when he had entered. He had been there for a month and a half, and every second of it showed.  
  
"Snape," Rookwood said to the black clad figure.  
  
He took no notice, lost in his nightmares.  
  
"Snape," Rookwood snapped.  
  
Still, nothing.  
  
"Severus, Snape, listen to me, now!" Rookwood snapped impatiently.  
  
Slowly, Snape roused himself from his tired self-hatred and looked at the dark eyes that appeared at the small viewing gap.  
  
"Rookwood," Snape acknowledged dully, not recognising it to be Rookwood's son.  
  
"You're allowed to go free now, Snape. Come with me," Rookwood said, seeing that it was safe to open the door. He unlocked the cell and opened it. Snape stared at him in disbelief from his place on the stone shelf. "Leave?" he asked dazedly.  
  
"Yes. Come on, I haven't got all day."  
  
Snape stood up, slowly unfolding himself, not really believing that he was allowed to go free again, but knowing that the door was open and wasn't going to be for long. He stood up shakily, his muscles weak from lack of use, his mind still unclear of what was happening.  
  
"Hurry up, man!" Rookwood snapped. He caught a few strands of Snape's hair in his finger and pulled them out of his head without the man realising what had happened. He was in a stupor, drowning in confusion and despair. Rookwood threw the hairs into a flask he had brought with him. The liquid hissed and turned a sort of brown-black, the colour of someone's mouth after they'd eaten a lot of liquorice. This done, he hissed at nothing, "Wormtail! Get here, now!"  
  
Shaking, a white faced man appeared, an Invisibility Cloak dropping from his shoulders. "Take this, and get in that damned cell. Don't drink it until someone's approaching. You've got about two hours. You have to do this. Or face our Lord's wrath." Rookwood smiled evilly at Wormtail.  
  
A trembling hand took the flask and put it under the bench, out of the way.  
  
Rookwood pulled Snape out of the cell roughly, and threw the Cloak over the taller man. He turned back to the new prisoner.  
  
"When you run out of Polyjuice Potion, get the hell out of here. The door is not, and will not be locked. And if it is, you've still got your wand," he said coldly, and turned away, guiding Snape's invisible self out of Azkaban and into the deserted boat that had brought Rookwood to the damned island. He shivered and shook his head to clear his thoughts of the screaming.  
  
He stupefied Snape for good measure and tossed him carelessly into the boat, still covered by cape. Everything in order, he wasted no time in getting Snape directly to the Dark Lord, as directed.  
  
~~  
  
"My Lord," he said, arriving at last, Snape suspended, unconscious in front of him.  
  
"Rookwood. ever faithful Rookwood. So glad. There were no problems?"  
  
"No, my Lord," Rookwood answered obediently.  
  
"Wormtail did not protest too much?"  
  
"Not at all, my Lord."  
  
Voldemort let out what might have been called a chuckle. Rookwood did not even shiver, though the sound was certainly worthy of the action. "Too pathetic even to argue with that. He is not a loss to our ranks, even if he does die in Azkaban. Let us just hope that he escapes before the transition is seen. They will be looking out for this trick now. It was used by the Crouches, before me. Never mind. Eneverate." The last word was aimed at Severus, who came round at last, his head aching horribly, but amazingly clear from the usual dire thoughts he was now used to waking up to.  
  
He realised two things. One, that he was not standing on the floor, and two, that he was faced with a flat, white face that could only belong to Voldemort. The effect was similar to that of Azkaban. The memories flooded back, after only retreating for a minute. Everything was vivid and clear in his mind.  
  
And Voldemort had him.  
  
"Professor Severus Snape. Potions Master. Dumbledore's pet spy. Crucio"  
  
And then the pain flooded through him, hot white pain, and agonising, excruciating pain. Every kind of pain anyone could ask for was coursing through him.  
  
It stopped suddenly.  
  
"Welcome back, traitor. I have a use for you once again."  
  
Severus looked back up at his old master dumbly, the horror he knew he should be feeling drowned out by the pain in his body, the pain in his mind. Not again.  
  
"Rookwood, take him into the cell that you prepared. Make sure that he is fed and watered sufficiently, and frequently. We want him alive and well, do we not?"  
  
Master and servant shared a secret smile, and then Voldemort dismissed them with a wave of his long fingered hand, turning his empty eyes back to chessboard on his desk.  
  
All the chess pieces were placed, carefully situated around the board, resembling the situation that Voldemort had set up.  
  
The time was right. Nearly all his pieces were in order. All he needed now was to know young Mister Malfoy. He would turn up soon enough.  
  
And then. well, then Voldemort could start recruiting again.  
  
Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow.  
  
Tomorrow was going to be -his-. The world would be at his mercy.  
  
He smiled a terrible smile.  
  
At his mercy. 


End file.
